


Zemnian Nights

by ChastitysNook



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-01-13 14:15:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 39
Words: 133,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18470626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChastitysNook/pseuds/ChastitysNook
Summary: Pick up your copy of best-selling novel, Zemnian Nights now entering its seventh month on the Empire's secret 'Hot Reads' list!"Everything I want in a book." - Kora Buttonbinder, The Rexxentrum Sentinel"Passion, hunger, lust, but kept quietly inside.  A truly Zemnian romance."  - Ian Lombier - Zadash Guild of Higher Edubation.





	1. Chapter 1

Zemni Fields, Truscan Empire  
Wildemount  
560 P.D.

Three days they had been riding. The procession trailing slowly along the Havenpath Road, the guards alert, crossbows at the ready. Sweat darkened their garments beneath their armor, each face ruddy and damp beneath the assault of an unseasonably bright day. Each man looked at once miserable and on edge, eyes constantly shifting as they rode. Yet if given his druthers, Lord Wilhelm von Friedrich would have happily traded places with any one of those men. He'd be far happier at the thought of facing goblins, ogres, bandits… anything other than being stuck inside the stifling carriage as they journeyed through the Zemni Fields toward the manor of Lord Rosenfeld, where his intended wife was awaiting him.

"Were I a poet ..." A drawling masculine voice rose from the other side of the carriage. “I could not pen a more lovely day than this. Cloudless skies of pristine blue, the waving fields of wheat dancing under the warm kiss of temperate sunlight, lending it the golden glint of a dragon's hoard…” He sighed dramatically. 

Wilhelm forced his attention from the covetous watch of the soldiers to focus upon the figure of his adopted brother, valet, and best friend, Caspar. The man was his opposite in every way. Dark where Wilhelm was fair, Caspar was cheery, gregarious, and witty. Wilhelm was far more of the melancholic humor, prone to fits of ire, then dark periods of recrimination and self-loathing. “The gods defy me. Were the weather made to match the mood, it would be dark skies and forbidding thunderclouds on the horizon. Those damned fields hidden beneath cold miasmic fogs.” He sniffed as he crossed his arms and sank back into his seat. “A suitable setting for marching to one's doom.”

Cas rolled his eyes and sat forward. "Doom? Is that not a bit dramatic even for you, my friend?” His smirk was as warm as the sun that beat down on the landscape. He leaned across and smacked Wilhelm in the side of his knee. “You speak as if it were a gallows we were bound for and not a fine manor house with the promise of a good meal, a comfortable bed, and... by week's end, someone to warm it and provide you with heirs to that mausoleum you call a castle. Your intended is rumored to be the most lovely flower of this land. Beautiful, gracious, accomplished, elegant and you act as if you’re going to be bound to some horse-faced rustic with a club foot and half her teeth."

Wilhelm gave no answer but drew deeper into his own brooding. It was true that Lady Margareta Rosenfeld was said to be the most beautiful woman in the whole of the Truscan Empire, though he had never met her. Those who poured out her praises spoke of her golden hair and eyes like the bluest cornflowers. A figure of sylph-like gracefulness and a voice so sweet it would turn vinegar to honey. He supposed as he thought on it, he could do worse. He had not intended to ever be Lord of Ravenswood, but since the terrible events that left him with the title, he'd done his best to keep the lands from sinking into poverty or conquest. This journey was just the next step in doing what was expected of him. 

"I find myself hoping for a bandit attack or a fallen tree in the road needing clearing, anything to distract me from this monotony." He mused aloud to distract himself from the dark thoughts that had begun once more to creep over him.

"Are you truly so unhappy?" Caspar sat forward, his demeanor of the roguish ne'er-do-well slipping a bit. "You do not have to do this, Wil. I know that there is much to lose if you do not, but is this union with Rosenfeld worth your happiness?"

“For as long as I can remember if one wanted decent ale, they were forced to deal with the Julous Dominion. Costly of course, but what option was there? Now small brewing houses are beginning to gain a foothold. Truscan beers grown in Truscan fields. Fields that the Dominion will burn and salt rather than face competition. That or they will break the tenuous treaty and invade outright. We will either have war anew or be forced to submit another portion of the Empire to their control to prevent it. Either way, the grain that this region produces will be out of our reach and without it, the risk of famine grows. Rosenfeld’s rich lands are a commodity I cannot afford to let slip away.” 

"In return you will provide him Eastern men and women looking for a new life who will stand as not only as fresh blood for the town, but trained militia to ensure his lands will be secure." Caspar chuckled as he finished what he'd heard outlined over and again. "And, of course, you'll have a pretty new wife to bind your houses forever. Two fine houses at each side of the Truscan Empire, like bookends of cooperation and protection."

Wilhelm was only faintly amused by the dramatic recitation of a plan that had been put into motion only a handful of weeks ago. "You make it sound so epic. It is hardly that. A few words from a cleric, a shared meal, a few nights on the road then, hopefully, life will resume back home without too much alteration."

"You do not expect your new Lady to alter anything?" Caspar's voice betraying his dubiousness at Wilhelm's declaration.

"She may try." He said with an undercurrent of threat, turning his attention back out the window, a silent wall thrown up to indicate that there would be no more discussing the subject. He liked things the way they were and he had no desire to have his home altered with the so-called 'woman's touch'. To consider the upheaval even for that few seconds had made his stomach clench uncomfortably.

The road, which had been fairly straight for the last day or so, now began to weave between rolling hills, a sinuous drift through tall and still green fields of barley, oats, wheat, and other grains, dotted here and there with plots of vegetables or paddocks of livestock. The wide-open fields shifted into more clustered, smaller farms which in turn became the edges of the village of Yrrosa. Here the caravan turned and for two hours more rode north until the manor of Lord Rosenfeld came into view. Unlike Ravenswood, it had no dark mountains at its back, but sat amidst a drifting sea of emerald grass and wildflowers of every color. 

The heavy wooden gates were opened once their arrival was announced. The manor itself was a bit less showy than Ravenswood but well made and sturdy. This far from the safety of Rexxentrum, one valued safety above looks he imagined. A wide wall of stone encircled the keep, occupied by a broad two-story dwelling of deep red brick and that same bright white here and there for accent purposes. It was cheery and bright, unlike the somewhat shadowy elegance of his home. Still, it was well-kept and far more presentable than he’d been imagining. "I suppose it is too late to turn back now." Mused under his breath as he braced himself, again feeling much like a man with the tickle of hempen rope around his throat and a rickety trap door beneath his feet. "How do I look?" He glanced to Caspar who had been uncharacteristically quiet only to see he'd fallen asleep, his head lolling. A swift kick against the side of his friend's foot and he roused with blinking, sitting up and looking around the carriage curiously. "Do I look presentable or not?"

Brushing back dark strands from his eyes he looked Wilhelm up and down. "You look fine. Not so good as myself but second place is nothing to sneeze at." Said with a peacock air and a flick of his wrist.

"I do wonder if it is the lack of sun on your face that keeps you so young-looking." Wilhelm smoothed his palms over his elegant doublet as the carriage came to a halt. "Perhaps if I too kept my head up my ass all the time as you do, I might take first place." He offered a faint smirk, the first hint of any genuine humor he had shown in near half a week of travel. 

“Do save your wit for Margareta. You know well how short your supply is and I would hate you to run out in the middle of your introductions.” Caspar grinned and when the door opened, stepped out, tugging on his cuffs as he stepped to the side and waited for his friend to join him.

The door to the manor house opened almost simultaneously as the sound of the carriage door shutting at Wilhelm’s back. A small contingency of people was moving out to meet them. The man at the fore of the miniature parade was obviously the Lord of the manor. He was dressed in fine robes, the glint of antique rings on his fingers and in the chains of office he wore across his chest proving it. Several guards moved with him, though they seemed to be in a role as escort rather than protection. It was neither of these that caught the attention of the two men, but the woman who walked at the back and to the side a bit.

"That cannot be the daughter, can it?" Caspar muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Wilhelm to hear. "I thought she was a blonde.”

"I was told she was." Wilhelm was of the same mind. This woman was not the bride he'd been promised. "Perhaps she is Lord Rosenfeld’s wife."

"If that is so she will be a comely widow even should he live to eighty before death frees her of her vows." Caspar joked faintly before biting back any further guesses. 

Wilhelm watched her approach. The woman was, indeed, nothing like Margareta was described to him. Her neck was nowhere near 'swanlike', nor was she as graceful as a bit of fluff blowing across a field of flowers, but despite this she was not unpretty. Hair the color of polished mahogany, dark and glossy, was pulled back from her face into braids that were twisted and looped at the nape of her neck, though bits had come loose and framed her face with sweat-dampened tendrils. Her dress was sensible, a soft but heavy surcote of warm taupe skimmed a frame that again underlined this could not be the Margareta who had been described to him. There was nothing sylph-like in this woman's build. She was trim but curvy, and there was a look of strength to her arms in the fitted sleeves of her underdress which was emerald green and devoid of any flashy embroidery. Her hips draped by a girdle of wide leather on which the jangling melody of a ring of iron keys marked her steps. She carried herself with a strange sense of confidence meeting his eyes without any silly girlish flirtation or blushing as she approached.

It was obvious to him she was familiar with the task of attending to the manor's guests. She met the eyes of each guard she passed with the same courteous dip of her chin in greeting he would have expected only to be offered to those of rank. He made note that the eyes of both the girl and the Lord were the same rich blue. This spoke of a familial relationship rather than a marriage and he frowned a bit at the wave of relief that realization sent through him.

The group paused, a faint bow from the men, though deeper in the guards, and as he too bent his neck, he was pleased to see that the girl had curtsied low, her hands folded atop her skirt and her head bowed respectfully. At least her strangeness was tempered by good manners, it seemed, 

"My Lord Von Friedrich." Lord Rosenfeld offered his hand and, when taken, clapped his other over the back of Wilhelm's. "Welcome, to you and your men. I trust that your journey was not too taxing?"

"It was uneventful, My Lord Rosenfeld. I thank you for asking." Wilhelm's chin dipping only faintly as his hand was set free. "My valet Caspar." An introduction and a shift of his eyes toward the girl for a moment. She was not looking at him though, but over the group in a general way, her face the same contemplative interest as he might wear when taxed with balancing Ravenswood's ledgers. 

"Well met, Sir." Rosenfeld nodded to Caspar then turned back to Wilhelm. "I wager you must be parched. Come inside, be refreshed. Renata will see to everything out here."

"Renata?" He asked with a lift of his brow, turning his most imperious of looks toward the girl, awaiting the inevitable tittering and calf's eyes that womenfolk were so prone to throwing in his presence when he deigned to note them. Instead, his brows knit as she roused from whatever calculations she was doing in her head and looked at him with nothing more than polite inquiry in her face.

"Yes, My Lord?" Her smile enigmatic as she looked his way.

Now that he had her full attention, he found himself feeling like a butterfly pinned to a collector's mat under her studious blues. She seemed to look at him unlike anyone ever had. Curious but not prying, intent without staring. It was unexpected and disconcerting. "Just ensuring I heard it correctly." He tucked his hands behind his back. "See that the men are given whatever they may require." He walked after Lord Rosenfeld with his head held up, refusing to give the little minx the pleasure of seeing him glance back at her. "Where, if I may ask, is my bride?" Wilhelm did not believe in dragging things out. "Should she not have been here to greet me as well?"

"Oh..." the older man frowned a bit. "She has been unwell for the past two days, My Lord. Feminine nerves being what they are, don't you know. They twist themselves into a knot over the slightest thing." he gave an airy sort of dismissive chuckle. "I allowed that she might have the day to attend to preparing herself for the banquet tonight. It is better this way, I think. Gives us men time to settle things between us without you being distracted by your intended's charms.

"I see." He showed no sign of emotion as the man lead him toward the manor. Falling a step behind, he lowered his voice for Caspar's ears alone. "Attend to things." His friend dismissed to keep an eye on things outside, Wilhelm stepped into the manor after his host with his hands clasped behind his back, nodding politely as the Lord began telling him about the construction of the manor in great detail. ' _And I thought this day could not get worse_ ,' he mused inwardly with a sigh of resignation.


	2. Chapter 2

As commanded, Caspar fell back and slipped into the shade of the manor, quite skilled at being invisible when he chose to be. His keen attention noted that as Wilhelm vanished into the house, the girl's eyes followed him. The look was keen as it traced his form from head to heel before she gave a small nod as if deciding something. Most would never have noticed it, but he was a rogue at heart and the subtle was his bread and butter.

The girl then turned to face the guards who had ridden with them as well as the driver who was attending the horses as they milled about a bit in the courtyard. Her smile did not seem forced as she lifted her chin and spoke loud enough that it could be audible without resorting to shouting above the rising murmur of the crowd. "Welcome, Sirs, to Rosenfeld Manor.” When she had their attention, she clasped her hands before her waist and offered a polite nod of greeting before she continued. “As my father is occupied with entertaining your Lord, I am granted the honor of seeing you properly situated. Your time with us may be brief, but we wish it to be as comfortable and pleasant as possible.”

She gave a sweep of her hand outward and the guards turned to look behind them. A small group of men stood there, tidy but obviously work-hardened. "This is Mallos, Tarin, Demos, and Korit. They will help you with your baggage and horses." She nodded in the direction of the staff who moved to begin the task of aiding the coachman in getting the conveyance moved and taking the reins of the soldier’s mounts. “While the horses are being watered, I will show you where you will be resting. No doubt you are all anxious to refresh yourselves.” A nod and she moved away from the manor, her hands still linked before her waist. 

The men looked to one another, then to Caspar as he moved out of the shadows, his nod giving them permission to follow. As they walked, he was quite aware that while she strolled unescorted through the courtyard there was never a time that some worker on the grounds of the manor was not watching her. Caspar was reminded of guard dogs prowling about, their demeanor and gaze tender when on her, and threatening when they looked to any other, watching for the slightest hint of trouble.

She lead them to what appeared to be a smaller stable to the north side of the manor grounds, the wide door currently sitting open. "It is not much, but I do hope you will be comfortable here."

Stepping inside, the soldiers and Caspar were taken aback. Within, the air was fresh and clean, the stone floor devoid of any hint of straw or dust. Each stall had been made into a little room. A cot on either side of a wooden stool on which rested a pitcher and basin, each cot adorned with a folded woolen blanket and a pillow at the head.

After allowing the men to look about the small but well-appointed space, she cleared her throat from the door. “If you have need of anything, please feel free to speak to any of the gentlemen who I have introduced to you already, or to Heinrich, who oversees the guards. You will know him by the bright red beard.” She chuckled good-naturedly. “My second request is a bit … personal. The last stall at the end…” Caspar had moved down that way and looked within, the men following at his heel. A lantern, as yet unlit, hunt from the ceiling. A large barrel of water and a heavy pitcher on a tall stool sat beside it. The most notable feature, however, was the round wooden lid that, no doubt, sat over a very deep hole. “... is provided for your….” she blushed a bit. “ _Privy_ needs and so forth. I would ask that you use it rather than the manor grounds.” 

Her back straight despite her obvious discomfort speaking of such uncouth things, she nodded once. “I am certain it is not required to say aloud that while you are our guests, please refrain from fighting, over-indulgence in drink, or ..." She blushed a bit but drew a breath and lifted her chin a bit. "Pressing familiarity with any of the servants." Her look was one of commiseration and apology almost as if to show that she knew it was not required to tell them so, but was being forced to. Caspar could tell this look was not born of naivety but of a keen show of demure agreeability to mask the steel of the underlying reminder for the men to be their best selves. "No doubt I am merely repeating what your own Lord directed, you are gentlemen all. I am sure you wish to see your mounts are well and attended to properly, before making yourselves ready for the feast tonight, where a table will be awaiting you as our guests. I thank you, once more, for your patience, Sirs."

The men looked toward Caspar, who likewise was surprised at the invitation to the feast. When she walked back as she'd come, they followed. Caspar directed the household staff to take his chest and Wilhelm's to wherever they would be staying within the manor house. Watching the chatelaine, he had to admit she was unexpected. That she had obviously worked hard to ensure even the lowest soldier was made to feel as if they were a guest was significant. She moved in the courtyard, directing servants here and there, seeing that clear water was brought out. When the guards had finished with their horses, it was she who hefted the pitcher and poured water for each man with a merry smile that he could tell was at once natural to her, and a facade. He was a good judge of people, and it was obvious she was unhappy about something today but hid it well. Misery was not her usual state.

"So this is the West?" He'd smiled as he stepped up, cup in hand. Holding it steady as she poured. "I say then that we must be vigilant and speak nothing of what we have seen here, Gentlemen." Looking to the gathered guards. "Lest every Eastern man defect to the beauty that grows so naturally in these lands." He toasted her and he saw amusement in her eyes, tempered by humility.

"Pray do hold your tongues as this good Sir bids." She glanced around the gathered company. "Should many more handsome men of the East arrive, our Western lads shall have only their personalities to rely upon. Gods help them." She rolled her eyes heavenward, obviously jesting.

The men chuckled and a few winked in her direction as she shook her head, laughing softly. "I pray your indulgence, good Sirs. I have much to attend to before tonight's banquet. I wish you well, and as I said, please let someone know if you find you need anything." A courtly bow of her head and she turned, strolling back toward the manor, the keys at her hip jangling brightly as she moved with the haste of one who had much to do and not too much time to do it. 

As he sipped his water, Caspar thought she was, if nothing else, a worthy chatelaine. If she ran the house as well as she ran the courtyard, Wilhelm would never have to worry about this half of the alliance's handling.

"She said we couldn't sport with the servants. Never said anything about herself though." One of the men muttered audibly.

"Think it was a hint?" A leering grin in return from one of the other men. "I wouldn't mind at all getting under that fine dress."

Caspar was a man of good humor and merrymaking by nature, but as he turned his good looks were twisted to a glare most thunderous. "After all that the lady has done? Speaking kindly, giving you drink with her own hands, and Gods knows how she must have toiled to see that barn made civil so you could lie in comfort instead of being eaten alive by fleas in some moldering hay pile full of horse dung" He glowered. "And you repay her grace and charity by speaking as if she were some back alley whore?"

Every eye dropped and a few muttered words of apology. "I would say that it is not to me you should beg forgiveness, but to the lady. However, to do that you would have to make her aware of your base insinuations and I choose to spare her that. " He gestured at them in general. "Go find ways to make yourselves of use around here. Consider that your penance."

When they'd slunk away, he took several deep breaths and let them out slowly until his temper eased. He could report them, but he was fairly sure the men were all bark and no bite. The two who had spoken were young and like as not anxious to seem more manly by their insinuations. It would do no good to convey their slip of manners to Wilhelm. He watched as dutifully the men found tasks about the place to render aid to repay the house’s fine charity to them. When at last he was satisfied they would not shirk, he turned on his heel and went to seek his Lord’s company and report.

Upon entering, he took a moment to let his eyes adjust as he glanced about the manor's interior. The first floor was faintly L-shaped. The shorter and wider portion of the L lead obviously to the kitchen if the smells could be judged. The longer stretch of the L was a great common room flanked here and there by doors. The common room was even now being set for what he expected would be a welcoming feast. Long tables were laid and servants carried in long benches to flank them. The floor above was open at the center with a wide balcony that circled the whole space. At the far end of the large hall, a set of spiraling stairs rose up to the second floor. It was at the base of these stairs he caught sight of the lady Renata once more as she descended, her brow knit and her smile gone.

He was moving toward the wall with the intention of slipping as unnoted as he could to follow, and perhaps discover what had caused such a change in her in just a matter of a quarter-hour. He had taken only a few steps when one of the doors along the wall opened, the figures of both Lords stepping out into a flock of servants passing by with armloads of linens. Caspar, taking advantage of the moment of distraction, ducked around the corner, slipping up beside Wilhelm as if he'd been there the whole time. 

"Ah, Renatta.." her father motioned her over. "Go and make Margareta aware her intended wishes to speak to her privately. You, of course, will be expected to keep them company. Make sure they don't get too close before they're properly wed." He chuckled pompously.

"I would advise against it, Father." She glanced for a moment to Wilhelm and Caspar could see the look of apology in her features. "I have just come from her room.” Though she spoke to her father, the blues often shifted toward Wilhelm, Caspar noticed. “She has been upset by the prospect of being so far from home once she is wed. Tears have left her in a state where she'll need a bit of time to pull herself together. By dinner, I am sure she will be her usual radiant self." She smiled despite what Caspar could tell was both the truth and not the whole of it.

"Oh, well, yes. " Her father nodded absently. "You know better than I, Renata, what is best where such things are considered." He sighed softly, changing the subject with a blustery sort of harumph as if discussing anything remotely feminine was deeply uncomfortable. "Is everything prepared for tonight's feast? The guests will be arriving soon.” 

"Father..." she set her hands on his shoulders. "Be at ease. Go have a very small glass of sherry, change for dinner, and try to relax." She looked past him to Lord Von Freidrich. "I am certain that his Lordship will be content for the chance to get a bit of rest of his own before he must face the inevitable scrutiny of our people." She chuckled softly as she pressed her father to step away, her arm around his shoulders in a guiding fashion. "Won't you, My Lord?"

"I do not suppose I have a choice." He was obviously unhappy that he would not have an opportunity to see the girl he would be forced to marry come morning. He would rather have gotten his measure of her in private. 

If Renata noticed his tone of displeasure, she didn’t show it. "There. You see, Father, all is well." She sent him off with a slight nudge, watching as he made his way toward his rooms, his valet coming to meet him, guiding him into his room. A soft sigh of mingled affection and resignation before she turned back toward Caspar and Wilhelm. Her smile was honest for the few moments it held sway before she sniffed and frowned. "I fear I must attend to something.." her tone slightly higher in pitch, a touch of panic that was underlined when the bitter smell of smoke touched his nose, telltale sign something was burning in the kitchen. "I will send Merton to show you to your room. Forgive me, My Lord." And she was gone.

Caspar shook his head, smirking in amusement, though his friend looked as if he'd been sucking on lemons. "Pleasant visit with your new father-in-law was it?"

"You should be a jester." Wilhelm quipped dryly. "For hilarity such as yours is unknown in the land." He scowled faintly as a short but well-dressed man, obviously Merton, bowed and motioned them to follow him to their rooms. He held back enough that his low voice would not carry well to the servant’s ears. "First I found myself subjected to that old fool's witless rambling about where the damn stone was mined and what forest gave birth to the wood that makes up the rafters..." he groaned. "Then I am told by that chit of a chatelaine that I cannot see my own fiance until dinner. I despise surprises. I wished to have a look at her before I must put on a polite face before her father."

"And likely half the local populace. From what I have gathered, he means to have quite the celebration." Caspar chuckled softly, not enjoying his friend’s discomfiture, but seeing the humor that would, he hoped, be more evident in hindsight after all was said and done. 

“ _Wunderbar_ …” Wilhelm grumbled as he stepped through the opened door. The rooms that were set aside for them were, if not regal, then certainly clean and well-appointed. Beautiful tapestries covered the stone walls and shutters of bleached muslin were opened to let in the spring breeze through the pair of windows that overlooked the courtyard. A dressing table and a tufted stool, a freestanding washing stand in the opposite corner. 

Tired as he was, the best thing in the room to him at the moment was the bed. A large carved oak four-post frame, a quilted pallet and at least two thicknesses of featherbed atop the tightly strung ropes promised a deep and comfortable rest. The coverings were rustic but lovely. Patches of black and green and deepest royal blue interweaved in haphazard swirls that made him think of a darkened spring pond, its surface disturbed to send the leaves shifting on the ripples. There were no bedcurtains, however, to block the cold night air. Perhaps in this part of the country, the nights were more temperate.

When Merton had reminded them that they had but to ring for anything needed, and they were alone, a wave of Wilhelm’s hand was all that was required for Caspar to begin his recounting of the events in the courtyard as he undressed. Caspar detailed the manor’s overwhelming graciousness in both acceptance and accommodation of the men, and specifically the Lady Renata’s obvious hand in all of it. "She acts quite ably it seems, My Lord." He stepped up to collect the shed clothing so it would not get wrinkled from being left on the floor. “From what I have gathered, she is her father’s right hand.”

"So he said." Wilhelm was drifting it seemed, staring far past the spot on the wall his eyes rested upon.

"A very pretty hand too." He tested the guess as to where his friend's mind had wandered.

"Yes, very." He admitted under his breath before he caught himself and stood straight and stalwart against such fancies. "I am sure however it is not _**her**_ hand that I am concerned with.” Glowering as he finished doing up his buttons. 

"Of course not, My Lord." Caspar smirked as he adjusted his liege's cape across his shoulder. He would not press yet. Not until he'd gotten the measure of the sister.


	3. Chapter 3

Renata stepped into a small alcove just off the common room, her hand pressed tightly over her roiling stomach. How could things have gone so very wrong so quickly? The kitchen was back on track as thankfully it had been more smoke than damage and there would be no lasting impact on the upcoming feast. Every spare coin they could afford to spend (as well as a few they couldn't) had been thrown at this event. It was vital to her father's reputation that Lord von Friedrich believed they were equal to him in wealth and standing. 

Margareta had not been happy when the nuptials were announced at the month's dawning. She'd locked herself in her room and the passing weeks had vacillated between weeping and throwing things in a pique. Renata had hoped that by the time Lord von Friedrich arrived that Margareta would come to accept that this marriage was for the best. Once Renata had shown his entourage to their accommodations, she was anxious to go to Margareta and lay thick praises of the Lord's looks and wealth, the two things she knew mattered most to her sister. 

She'd found Margareta weeping in her room again. Dramatics were not uncommon for Margareta, but her tantrums were usually short-lived and blew over quickly. To see the girl so bereaved, Renata feared this was more than the usual temper fit. The girl's famed beauty was lost in a ghostlike pallor only lit by a bright red nose and red-rimmed eyes. Tearstains ran down pale cheeks and her hair was a mess as if she'd not touched a brush in two days. She was truly pitiful.

With a sigh of sympathy faintly tinted by exasperation, she set her sister down, dampened a cloth and began dabbing at Margareta's face gingerly, making soft cooing sounds of comfort as she did so. "It cannot be that bad. I have met your intended husband and he seems a fine gentleman. Very handsome, well-dressed, he speaks well, he does not seem unkind. If you would just give yourself the allowance to consider him, perhaps you will find this arrangement is not so terrible."

"But... but.." she sobbed with a quivering pout. "But I love _Thomas!_ "

"Thomas is..." she had bitten her tongue. Her feelings about her sister's favored suitor would only make the weeping worse. Thomas Geier was a worthless gild-painted chit of wood but all Margareta would ever see was a glittering gold piece. "Thomas is not the one for you." She would have to be kind, but firm. This alliance was vital. "Father would not have said no to his suit if he thought Thomas was a good match."

"To the Abyss with Father! I have made my choice. I will have Thomas or no one at all."

"Marg..." Renata began

"I'm carrying his child." She said with a frighteningly calm voice.

Renata felt as if the air had been pulled from the room. She swayed and grabbed hold of the bedpost as panic threatened to overwhelm her. To find his bride was not a virgin on the wedding night was dangerous enough, but to already be cultivating another's babe? That would ruin every life it touched. "Oh, Margareta, how could you?" She sank back down on the corner of the bed, her head swimming.

"It was so romantic..." Margareta sighed at the window, her cheek resting against the stone. "He wrote me poems every day. He swore his love to me, his eternal devotion. He asked Father for my hand, but the old man said no." Bitterness tainting her tone. "He said that I was not for the likes of a mere merchant. That he had plans for me as if I don't get a say in who I choose to spend my life with!" She dabbed at her face with a handkerchief. "Thomas wrote to me that he was heartbroken. Begged me to meet with him at the old chapel. I know I shouldn't have..." She bowed her head. "But I had to see him one last time. I ... I swore to him that I would never love another, no matter to whom Father sold me. He kissed me. I was shocked, but it felt nice, and I kissed him back, and... one thing lead to the next and ..."

"Stop." She waved her hand as though the topic were a fly that buzzed too near. "I don't care how it happened, we have to find a way to fix this." Renata rose and began to pace, her mind awhirl. The only way to spare Margareta was to give Von Friedrich a very good reason to step away. To lay the blame of the offense at his own feet so he could not bear ill feelings toward her father, or put a halt to the alliance lest his reputation be wounded. 

She had overheard the men who had ridden in with him jesting that he was no more happy with the marriage portion of this agreement than Margareta was. That made it easier. She simply had to give him a clear path toward safe retreat without dishonor while assuring he got the alliance that both he and her father sought. She hoped he saw that path and, as any scared animal, took the easiest road from trouble when offered it. 

"I will fix everything." she offered a small wan smile. "You must, for Father's sake and for my plan to work, go soak your face in cold water to wash away the signs of tears. Be your usual, beautiful self tonight, and I swear that tomorrow, Lord von Friedrich will ride away unwed and ... I will speak to father and persuade him to reconsider Thomas' suit."

Margareta had shifted from dour to cheery with the haste of a flipped coin and Renata had left her to her maids. She'd done her best to make it seem all was well when she unexpectedly ran into her Father with Lord von Friedrich. Again, she was pressed to note how handsome he was, though he'd be more so if he ever uncreased his brow and smiled a bit. The smell of smoke had pulled her away, and now that all was back on an even keel in the kitchens, she could not linger a moment longer in worry over her plan. There was much to do and little time to do it. 

The household was awash in a dizzying whirl of preparations. The dining hall tables were now covered by bleached cloths and long burgundy runners. Buntings of the same deep red were hung from the balcony like buntings, draped over long poles hung with lanterns to cast the room below in a welcoming golden glow.

She had barely time to change her surcote to something more fitting to the party when guests began to arrive. She, as hostess, assured they had drinks as pleased them and small platters of dried fruits, cheeses, and bits of dark bread were circulated about as the room began to fill. Every family of means within ten miles was crowded into the manor in hopes of seeing the Lord from the East. Gossip flowed as freely as the wine and she took it upon herself to at least attempt to put in a good word for the unfortunate Lord von Friedrich. A small band of local musicians had been set up on the upper balcony and music flowed over the crowd. She curtsied low when her father appeared, and he began to move amongst the crowd, answering some questions, playing coy with others and she could guess he'd indulged in more than the single small glass of sherry to steady his nerves. 

She had only just been about to retreat to the kitchen when the room was awash in whispers, and their honored guest began his descent down the spiral staircase. She had thought him quite handsome before, but rest and a change of attire had made him seem almost inhumanly so. His hair of wheat blonde fell in a sweeping wave across his brow, kept trimmed short otherwise. His eyes, like her own, were blue, but whereas hers were more cornflower, his were the crystalline purity of the distant sea. His rugged jawline was devoid of the scruffiness that he'd worn upon his arrival, and the rumpled doublet was exchanged for one of deep blue-black velvet. The rich sapphire of his shirt peeking through slashed sleeves was mirrored in the tight breeches that embraced his legs in a way that highlighted the strength of them. The lamplight glinting in the high polish of his boots as he walked toward her father. At his back, the man she recalled from earlier, darker in both coloring and clothing, followed him like a shadow, peeling off and stepping away as they reached the base of the stairs, melting into the crowd.

"My Lord Von Friedrich ..." Lord Rosenfeld approached with his arms outstretched and his booming voice reaching every ear. "Come. I would introduce you to some of our people."

Lord Von Friedrich bowed respectfully, and when he rose, he glanced her way. She offered him a sympathetic sort of smile as the local gentry began to swarm in his direction. She knew he must surely feel more like a prize horse at the market than an honored guest at the moment. He narrowed his eyes faintly before looking away and putting a polite half-smile on his lips as he was introduced around. She noted he would speak to each person, feigning interest in what they said, responding with words she could not hear but could tell pleased them. Again, she felt a pang of regret for her plotting. Fine as he was, kind as he seemed, she had to consider her family's best interests.

A collective gasp rose and all eyes turned to Margareta as she appeared atop the stairs. As usual, Margareta was a vision. There was no sign of any of her earlier tears. She was perfect as a doll of carved ivory. Her gown a lovely eggshell brocade with golden threads woven throughout. Her fair hair in a pair of long braids linked by golden cuffs down her back, a circlet riding the crest of her brow. She moved with soft grace down the stairs where their father and Lord von Friedrich moved to intercept. Renata was too distant, and the crowd had pressed in to block her view. She regained sight of them a few moments later, Lord von Friedrich leading Margareta to her seat, taking his own beside her in a place of honor. 

There was no more time to muse as Renata shifted her attention to overseeing the feast. Smiling pages served the more noble tables, tabards and brimless caps pristine as they cleared away the near emptied trenchers and platters of fruit and bread and replaced them with new temptations with graceful ease. The household servants attended the tables of those who were not noble but were equally welcome, including Lord von Friedrich's men, their laughter and chatter adding a note of exuberance to the festivities. The finest food and drink, however, were directed to the visiting Lord. It was rumored he was prone to drunkenness in his youth and at times of celebration, he would perhaps slip back into old habits. To court it, he would never lift his goblet and find it more than a third diminished. 

The night wore on, Renata was kept too busy to get more than the occasional glance toward the head table. In those moments, she gathered that Margareta seemed to be committed to her part. Perhaps a bit too much in fact, offering up the sorts of looks that she wielded on every other man she sought to capture. That His Lordship seemed quite unaffected by her charms confirmed, to Renata anyway, the Lord's reticence to marrying at all.

As the meats and cheeses gave way to pies and cakes, the musicians shifted to softer, slower songs that better suited the tipsy, sated, content guests' mood. As the hours passed, one by one the nobles rose to approach the Lord's table and offer their deep thanks and high praises for a wonderful evening before they departed for their homes. Standing aside, her hands wiped on a damp cloth, she watched the head table surreptitiously. Lord von Friedrich looked far too sober, and not at all pleased, though it was not obvious, she supposed to anyone not truly studying his face. Outwardly, he was all good manners and civility, but there was a tension in his jaw and posture that whispered how uncomfortable he was. 

"It was a very fine party." A masculine voice intruded from behind her, making her jump. Wheeling about, she smiled faintly, still suffering a hammering heart as Lord Von Friedrich's valet stood, hands at the small of his back, looking past her out over the emptying room.

"Sir. I... forgive me, I did not hear you approach." This was not surprising, she'd barely noted him through the night, as he was dressed in a manner quite the opposite of his Lord. Where Von Friedrich was fair-haired in brilliant blue designed to draw the eye, his man was dark, clad in muddled gray and black, as if he'd drawn the shadows of the keep around himself. "Is there something I may help you with?"

"Oh, no, I just noticed you'd finally stopped flitting about and thought I would take the moment and give praise where it was deserved." He looked toward the head table. "You must care for your sister very much to have worked so hard tonight."

He did not leer or press himself close, but stood apart, very studious. She got no feeling of unease, though there was something in his tone, something unsaid that rankled her just a bit. "Of course I care for my sister. Who could help themselves?"

He nodded sagely. "Her beauty is incomparable. Still..." he shrugged and whatever he might have been thinking was cast aside as he brightened a bit and looked toward her again. "You are too generous with the men." He looked momentarily aghast as if he had spoken without realizing how that might have been taken. "Oh, please, do understand I meant your kindness to our soldiers. A bit of stew and beer perhaps would have been expected. You, however, chose to lay a table for them in your hall. Fed them gravied meats, roasted vegetables, warm bread, and fine wine. You made them a nicer place to sleep than they have at home and I suspect if we were not leaving tomorrow afternoon, they would defect completely."

She shook her head faintly. "They rode the same road you did, Sir. They earned a bit of respite and enjoyment."

"Yet you asked them not to enjoy the company of those pretty girls serving them."

It was her turn to blush. "Sir, I am certain that those who wish company will find that company comes to them. If a gift is offered, it is churlish not to take it. I spoke as I did only to ensure that they were reminded that good manners are key. " She held his dark gaze and saw he understood her meaning. She was fine with the men sporting, just not with them taking unwilling partners. "Else I would have had sent Anke." She gave a flick of her eyes toward the burly and plain serving woman who was clearing the plates away. It was not her lack of beauty which made the difference, but that she had a look on her face at all times that she was a hair's breadth from unleashing a fist at someone.

"Dear Gods..." He chuckled. "I thank you for sparing them."

"Oh, they're up." She noticed that her Father, Lord Von Friedrich, and Margareta had all stood.

"Ah, so it seems." he nodded. "Perhaps we may speak again before My Lord and his new Lady depart." He took her hand in his, bowing his head over it a bit, a click of his heels ere he rose. "A pleasant rest when you allow yourself to take it, M'lady."

"And to you, Sir." She curtsied a bit, rising as he walked away. She was watching the trio at the table though. Margareta offered her slender hand to Lord von Friedrich, and he took it, bowing his head ever so slightly, then stepped back, nodding to the Lord of the manor curtly and turned away. Like the appearance of a shadow when the lamp was lit, his man was at his heel ere he reached the stairs. 

A few minutes later, Margareta yawned prettily and made for her own rooms, the goblet in her hand spilling slightly as she did so. Shaking her head, Renata took a few moments to pass down directions to the staff to see to the clearing of the hall before moving to take her Father's arm. It seemed he too had been enjoying the very free flow of the wine tonight. "Come, Father, let us get you to your room." A tug and she had him on his feet. 

"It was a success, my girl." he grinned tipsily and patted her cheek. "Tomorrow, he will marry Marga..." he hiccuped. "Margareta, and you can stop worrying about the accounts and just be happy. You work far too hard." He sighed as he ambled toward his room, swaying faintly.

"It is my duty and pleasure, Father." His valet met them at the door, and she left him in Hoskin's good hands while she hurried back to assure the tables were broken down, the tablecloths and napkins cleared away, the floors swept, the lamps cleaned, and the fires fed for the long night before them. By dawn, hopefully, if things went as she hoped, Lord von Friedrich would have no choice but to do what was best for everyone concerned.


	4. Chapter 4

The Lord of Ravenswood stood with the bottle in hand, refilling his cup. "So, tell me everything” he growled faintly in his frustration. 

Caspar sat draped in a high-backed chair, his own glass held out to be refilled. "I did as you bade." He shrugged. "I lingered in the background, I watched the room, I listened."

"And?" Wilhelm's mood was dark as he crossed the room. The night had been unbearable. In the taverns and bordellos of Rexxentrum he was considered suave and clever and even agreeable. Among the lowest ranks, he could be himself. In the halls of the elite, surrounded by a hundred eyes, each of them watching for the slightest slip in protocol to label him inferior and cloddish, stupid and useless and all the things his father had believed him to be, he was tense as a bowstring. 

"Patience, Wilhelm. I was considering where to begin.” Caspar gave a polite nod when the cup was topped off. “The guests? They were, I am sure, all smiles and manners to your face, but you asked me to discern their other face. The one they don't choose to show to you." A tiny sip taken, the strong liquor stinging lightly on the surface of his tongue. "As you would expect, their opinions of you are varied. None of them seemed dangerously opposed to you, but more than a few men were upset that the daughter of House Rosenfeld was being traded off for an alliance that, as they saw it, offered no benefit to them." He sat up straighter and deepened his voice, his chin pulled in to a fairly reasonable imitation of a local bristle-lipped merchant. "What if the Julous Dominion strikes the border again? He is all the way across the Zemni Fields, by the time he arrived we'd be nothing but ash!" A huff and he sat back. "Idiots."

Wilhelm frowned. "The alliance contract addresses those concerns. We're sending soldiers, establishing better trade routes and keeping them safer, not to mention that if the Julousian's do invade, the refugees will have to have somewhere to refugee ... to!" His bottle was emptied and set aside, another removed from the chest.

"A fact that will become more than clear, Wilhelm when the alliance is set and can be properly announced." Caspar attempted to soothe his friend's boiling ire. "That was only a few blowhards anyway. Most hated you for an entirely different reason."

Pulling the cork and abandoning the cup altogether he drank directly from the bottle with a glare toward his friend.

"The gentlemen were all quite put out that some foreigner...their words, not mine, as I am fully aware that despite being on opposite sides of Zemnia we do share both king and country...was absconding with the finest flower in all the land." This earned nothing more than a grunt from the figure at the window. "What? You do not agree that your bride is a beauty?"

"Oh, she's beautiful. She's perhaps the loveliest woman I've ever seen. Trouble is she knows it." Another deep series of gulps, brows lowered.

"I see. Well, as I did not converse with her overmuch, so I am not really in a position to speak on any vanity she may possess." He would attempt to be polite. The night's study had, in fact, included watching her, and he'd noted tiny cracks in Margareta's perfect porcelain facade. "It isn’t unexpected for a girl like her to be a bit vain. It will encourage her to keep those looks as long as she possibly can. Face and figure aside, did you find her at least tolerable company? She seemed to be quite interested in you. Hanging on your every word."

Another long swig and a grimace. "Oh, she was more than eager to discuss Ravenswood. Every question a thinly veiled attempt to learn exactly how wealthy I am. Making veiled digs at the home and life her father has so far provided her. She showed a very unpleasant leaning toward frivolousness. As the evening progressed, she grew a bit inebriated and her subject of discussion seemed to slip to..." Wilhelm frowned hard, a bit of redness infusing his skin. "Inquiries of what our wedding night might be like. When her hand moved against my thigh under the table I felt it appropriate to bid my host good night and retire to my room."

Caspar was not surprised to hear any of this. He had watched Margareta surreptitiously from the moment she entered the room. It was obvious she was used to being the center of attention. She was sweet and subtly flirtatious with every gentleman of status, and the counterfeit friend of every woman on their arm. Those beneath her status were treated with, at best, indifference and at worst with disdain. She was beautiful, yes, but beneath it she seemed a deeply miserable person. The kind of misery that ate a person up from within, leaving them hollow and creating a vampiric spirit of all-consuming bitterness. She would never be happy with what she had and her unhappiness would infect those around her like a disease.

"I noticed you talking with the other one before we came upstairs." Wilhelm’s voice slowed a bit, drawing out the words as he pulled Caspar from his mental walk-about. "What's her name again?"

"Other one? Oh, you’re speaking of Renata?"

"Renata, yes.” Sinking down to sit atop the chest, nodding faintly. “Her name came up often in that dreadful tour I had to withstand earlier. It seemed anything of real interest the old man showed me was connected to her somehow." Wilhelm rested the half-emptied bottle on his knee, gazing over at his companion with slightly bleary eyes.

"Ah, thinking of switching your quarry are we?" Caspar teased with a slight smirk.

"Hardly." Wilhelm made a small huff. "I just wanted to know if you too noticed she was not present at dinner. There was not even an empty place at the high table for her. I thought it odd, but did not ask about it though I did find it strange she would not even attend her own sister’s engagement feast."

"My dear Wil," Caspar shook his head in amusement. "What would have been the purpose of having a place set for her? The woman never sat down the whole night. She acted as hostess, oversaw the kitchen staff, guiding the pages, inspecting every trencher before it was sent out, a hundred subtle things that kept every plate and goblet full and the music flowing. It seemed she was far too determined to ensure nothing went awry to ruin the night to be bothered with something as silly as eating or breathing.”

Wilhelm blew a breath through his lips, a sound of disdain. “Hardly appropriate if you ask me. Treating one daughter like some princess and the other like a servant.” Grumbling into his bottle as it rose again to his lips. 

Caspar nodded and shrugged. “From what I gather, Renata is not his true daughter. When Lord Rosenfeld’s first wife, Margareta's mother, passed away, he remarried fairly quickly. Renata came part and parcel to that second wife. Though she is not his blood, he has acted as her father since she was but three years old. Still, I am pressed to agree it is not at all fair."

"I would not have guessed she was adopted." Wilhelm mused quietly. "They have the same eyes."

"So you were gazing deeply into His Lordship's eyes?" He teased his friend with a slightly breathless gossipy tone. "My, my Wilhelm, do you seek to woo the whole family?" His reward was to have to duck the thrown cup, the polished hollowed horn hitting the back of the chair and bouncing off to roll across the carpet. Thankfully it had been empty.

"Don't be an ass." He blew a breath out through pursed lips, the liquor's strength compounded by the wine from earlier, was setting his head to swim a bit. "I do not wish to woo anyone. Not His Lordship... not his daughter... not his _not_ daughter. No matter how blue her eyes are." He reached up to rub the end of his nose which had begun to itch faintly. "Besides, no doubt she's got a line of suitors from here to the Menagerie Coast."

__

__

"From what I have learned of her, I do not think so. She seems quite content to remain unwed and keep up her tasks as her father's chatelaine. There were, after all, ample gentlemen of means here tonight and she paid heed to none of them." Caspar lifted his cup to his lips. "Except for you, that is." Glancing up as he said it, reading his friend's face for signs that his guess was right.

"Ah." He lifted the bottle and drank deeply, sighing as it was set again on his leg, his head wavering slightly. "Seems a shame." He sat staring at nothing in particular, a blank look on his features that, after a handful of moments shifted to confusion. "What do you mean 'except for me'?"

"Oh, she was watching you all night. I thought, at first, that she had a bit of a crush. You are, after all, considered by many to be a very handsome man Wilhelm.” He teased as he took a tiny sip. “After further study however I surmised her gaze was far too astute and discerning. I assume she was simply keeping an eye on what she knows to be a very vital ally. Assuring all was going well so the alliance would not hit any snags. I would not be surprised if much of your business correspondence in the future has a very feminine hand composing it."

"I see..." he seemed somewhat sad that she'd not been gawping at him like a moonstruck calf. For an instant his thoughts turned upon the idea of her, warm and willing and adoring, but he shook it off and nodded. “Her father showed me the ledgers. That hand will be familiar. She keeps very good records.” Though his lips praised her acumen for keeping the lists of tenants’ goods, his mind was still casting her into a light that was anything but business-like. “She is certainly nothing like her sister.”

"Night and day, My Lord." Caspar stood. "And speaking of night and day, the former is passing swiftly, and the latter will be here before you know it. Tomorrow is a very important day.”

“Ugh… do not remind me.” Wilhelm rose wobbily from his perch on the clothing trunk. 

“Is there anything more I may do for you before I retire?" He frankly wondered if his Lord would be able to balance well enough to get his own boots off without falling on his head, but he wouldn't say so aloud.

"I am fine. Sleep if you must." He raised the bottle. "I have better company than you." He shook the bottle as further illustration as he stalked crookedly to plop down into the chair that Caspar had given up.

"Rest well, M'lord." Caspar knew that he'd have to get up very early to even have a hope of making the man not look like Hell itself during his nuptials. No doubt his friend would likely be in that same chair come morning. He stepped out of the room and shook his head. If there were some way to prevent the next day from coming, he would happily have done it. Neither his Lord or his intended would be happy with this union. They were wholly unsuitable. 

Already tense, he paused at the door to his room. From beneath he could see the tell-tale flicker of candlelight dancing across the stone floor. Though he was the adopted son of a noble, he had spent a wild youth in the alleys of Rexxentrum and developed wariness and certain skills that served to keep him alive. One hand slid to his dagger, his steps silent as his fingers set lightly to the door's handle. While he had no expectation of trouble in this house, he was not the sort who allowed himself to believe anywhere was completely and utterly safe in this world. Had not Brigitta's wedding proved that? 

With a swift press of the latch down and a graceful leap, he jumped through the door, prepared for almost anything. Anything but a naked woman lounging in his bed. Her coppery hair was unbound, falling in waves against her shoulders and the generosity of her breasts. The curves of a sumptuous carnality unspoken, the sort of body that sculptors drew from marble with covetous strokes of their tools.

"Hello." Her fingers waggled at him and her smile spread slowly as she sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the mattress. Her hands roamed across her naked skin without shame, leaning back on one hand while the other drifted upward along the inner line of her thigh. "I hope you don't mind that I started without you."

His brows crept up toward his hairline, confusion turning to recognition when he finally dragged his eyes upward to her face. The feast. She had been milling about with the pitcher of wine. She'd caught his eye for certain, and he'd allowed himself a brief moment of flirtation. A few teasing words, a smile, a wink in her direction, but he had not expected this. He recalled Renata's words earlier. It was bad manners to turn away a gift. He slid the blade into the sheath and smiled, reaching up to begin the work of undoing his doublet. 

"I'm sure I can catch up quick enough."


	5. Chapter 5

Renata stood in the closet, her heart hammering. This was it. The leap that tonight had been leading to. When she had assured all the hall was clean, the servants eating what remained of the feast and lost in their own celebration, she had quietly slipped away. It had been almost a gift of the Gods to have overheard Amelia speaking with some of the other girls about a wink from the handsome valet. It was simple enough to hint to the woman that if she was amenable, entertaining their guest would not be frowned upon. Amelia had a reputation for a certain… voracity, and hopefully that would keep Lord von Friedrich’s man occupied throughout the night and sleeping deeply come dawn.

Her room was directly beneath Lord von Friedrich’s. Once it had been her grandfather’s room, but when he passed she had inherited it. She paused, her fingertips tracing the softly carved image of the Moonweaver, her grandfather’s patron deity, embedded into the wooden panel at the back of the wall. With a deep breath, she pushed the carving inward, a click as the latch disengaged, the wall swinging slightly out toward her on silent hinges 

It had been idle boredom in her youth that had lead to the discovery of this secret staircase to the room above. She had not understood then what a Mistress Path was. That the string of ladies who had been Governesses to them over the years were put into the room above so the Lord could access their beds without ever being seen to leave his room. She’d never imagined she herself would ever be poised to use it for its original purpose. 

There was no choice. It had to be done. To spare her father and sister the shame that would surely come when von Friedrich realized his wife was not only unchaste, but already pregnant. It would destroy everything. She would do what was needed to give her leverage over him and convince him to do what was best for everyone, including himself.

The stone stairs were cool under her bare feet as she ascended in the darkness. It curled tightly upward, ending in another wooden door. The smell of faintly perfumed oil fragranced the room beyond and kept the lock and hinges from making any betraying squeaks as she slowly pulled it open a crack. Then further, revealing a wall of heavy woolen tapestry. She all but held her breath, each inhale slowly taken, let out equally softly as she listened. There was neither sound nor light to betray any other in the room. Her heart began to race. What if he had decided to go for a walk? What if he decided to bunk down with his men in their makeshift barracks? What if he, like Grandfather, was out walking the walls under the moonlight only to fall to his death? 

A muttering grumble eased her fears, the dull thud of what she surmised was an empty boot dropped to the floor, a tinkling of glass, then a heavy creak of the bed ropes followed by a return to that stillness. She held very still, waiting for what felt like an hour. The tapestry before her muffled quieter sounds and so with the tips of her fingers, she pushed against it, moving it slowly away from the wall, slipping her head into the space made. Ears pricked for any sound, she peeked into the room. 

He had thankfully closed the linen shutters so the moonlight was filtered somewhat. Still, the full moon shone enough she could make out his shape, sprawled across the edge of the bed, an empty bottle resting loosely in his fingertips as they hung toward the floor.

Quietly as possible, she crept toward the far side of the bed, the vial of lamb’s blood she had purloined from the kitchen earlier in the evening held secure in her palm as she tiptoed to the far side of the bed. She could not see his face well, his features slightly veiled by the tumble of his hair, but in repose, he was quite a different looking man. The perpetually cross look had slipped away, and he seemed younger and less unpleasant. She frowned inwardly chiding herself for drifting in purpose. Gingerly, she pulled the covers up and away, just enough to expose the sheet beneath. The vial unstoppered she shook a few drops out. It was thickened slightly and looked like small dark dots upon the sheet. She doubted that was what it ought to look like. She wasn’t an expert, but one would imagine there’d be… motion. Tentatively, she turned her hand, running the heel of her palm across the drops to make a smear. That seemed, to her estimation, what it ought to look like. 

His Lordship groaned and reached up to run his hand over his face to sweep away the mussed blond from his brow with a mutter that was heavily saturated in the smell of alcohol. She froze, crouching down beside the bed, waiting in silent panic. She held her breath and though she was not one to pray, she sent out a general plea to any benevolent deity that might be listening. The tension seemed to grow exponentially, her lungs began to burn for air and an owl suddenly screeched, her heart leaping, but a few moments later, she heard a rustling in the bed as he turned over. “Stupid bird.” His voice bleary and slow. “Don’ you know s’bedtime?” A deep sigh let out and then a quiet snore rose to fill the quiet.

She rose on shaky legs and breath returned fast and shallow behind the hand covering her mouth. She swallowed hard and forced herself to remain when every fiber was screaming for her to run for the tapestry and the stairs beyond. The plan she had made with such sureness earlier was now so very foolish in her mind. Still, there was no time to think of another. She gazed down at him sprawled across the covers as she steeled her nerves. 

As he lay there on his back, eyes closed, lips parted in that soft snoring, she had to admit he was very handsome. That was not his only notable trait, however. She had watched him since he had arrived and he spoke to everyone, no matter their station, with the same attitude. Her father or the wine steward, he thanked them both equally. He showed grace in accepting what she had discerned was as unhappy a situation for him as it was for Margareta. Well, if all went as planned, he would be free of any obligation by morning. 

All she had to do was simply lie down. He would wake in the morning, find her in his bed, and she’d trade keeping his indiscretion a secret for his cooperation by signing the alliance and going home a bachelor still. The mattress shifted slightly as she knelt on the edge watching him for any sign of waking as she began to climb into bed. 

Instantly his eyes shot open and a hand flew upward and grabbed her throat, cutting off her breath in a crushing grasp. Her scream smothered before it could even be born. Mouth moving without sound, fingers clawing at his hand as he drew her down toward his face, his bleary eyes pinned on her reddening visage as he tried to focus in the filtered moonlight. The fury in his eyes faded into confusion and his grip loosened slightly, allowing her to suck in a deep raspy gasp. His confusion shifted into something else, a slightly leering smile touching his lips as he pulled her down against his wide chest and rolled over her. Hungrily, his mouth sought hers, sealing away her protests in a deep kiss.

She pushed at his chest, fighting to get back away from the bitter taste of liquor on his tongue as it was urged past her lips with a low groan that sent a vibration through his chest and, closely pressed as he was, her own. His hand at her throat had slid up toward her hair, his other arm wrapped around her, his leg draped over her thigh, his knee pressing between her own to attempt to coax them to part.

He was far stronger than he looked. Every attempt to break free seemed to be doomed before it began, his weight crushing her down into the soft mattress, his fingers in her hair petting and soothing her to relent. It tempted her to melt and parts of her wanted to do just that, but she was certain even a moment’s lull in her fight would mean disaster. In a panicked strength, she managed to push him away, turning her head enough to break the kiss. “Please, my Lord…”

“You had but to ask, _kätzchen..._ " his teeth closed on her earlobe softly, a sensation from that pressure coaxing a sound from her throat unbidden, a quiet moan that seemed to fuel his assault, his hips rolling in slow grinds against her near-naked hip. She turned her face away, gasping for breath, his lips against her cheek and neck leaving wet pecks. She shook her head both to deny his insinuation and clear her head.

"No, this is a mistake..." Her mind raced for some kind of reasonable excuse for her being here at this hour. “I wanted only to make sure you had made it to bed safely.” 

He purred and nuzzled her cheek with his slightly scratchy chin. "And you have succeeded." His kisses raining over her cheek and neck as his hand slid up along her side, the strength and warmth of his fingers making her deeply aware of how little she was wearing.

"No, my Lord, please!” She shoved at him anew. “You were well in your cups after dinner. I feared you might be unwell. When I saw you lying here, still dressed…” Keeping her voice a ragged whisper.

"Oh.. so you want me naked then?" He sprang up and she pedaled back across the covers away from him, staring as he stood wavering a bit on the side of the bed, tugging at his clothes. "I..." he hiccupped and chuckled. "Your wish is my command, _mein täubchen_." He stripped his elegant doublet off, then his shirt, tossing both aside and dropping his hands to his trousers.

"My Lord, I think you should stop." She gazed at him in a mingling of horror and hypnotized interest as he stripped. She felt her blood warming places she ought not to even consider. She blushed and scooted further back. "You've mistaken me quite." A quick glance toward the tapestry, wondering if she'd have time to get across the room and through the door before he caught up to her. She glanced back just in time to see him, fully naked, stalking toward her with a look like a ravenous lion. Her eyes could not help but note how well he was made. She ought to have averted her gaze but she could not have looked away for all the riches in the world. 

“Is this not what you came f…whoa!” A clatter as he stepped on the abandoned bottle at the bedside and it rolled beneath his foot, sending him flailing forward. She instinctively reached out to catch at him as he fell onto the mattress, giggling like a schoolboy as he tumbled back, sprawled out on the covers, his arm draped over his eyes. She let a breath of relief that he hadn’t broken his stupid head on one of the bedposts or crushed the bottle and sliced his foot open or any of the equally possible and painful outcomes to what just happened. She could not help but smile herself a bit, if only in relief that he was not hurt.

The laughter turned to a deep sigh as he lowered his arm and looked up at her. “You’re so very pretty.” he drawled tipsily, reaching up to run his fingers along the side of her face. Though the ravenousness of his earlier actions seemed to have bled away, his touch still made her feel as if she’d swallowed a whole pond worth of fish all swimming still. He slid his hand over her arm and pulled her lightly down against his side. Curling up around her his cheek nuzzled against her shoulder. “You smell nice too.” He kissed at her neck and then, a moment later, a soft breathy snore poured out across her collarbone. 

She blinked, afraid to move. The moonlight through the window illuminating his bare rump and the fine lines of his legs and back as he lay beside her, his arm and leg draped across her body almost protectively. As the minutes became an hour, and he showed no further signs of waking to his earlier rapacious behavior, she allowed herself to relax and reflect. Was this not what she had wanted? He would wake up, think they had been intimate, and she could blackmail him as planned. The imagining of being so cruel to him was only tempered by her constant reminder to herself that he was not looking for a bride. He did not want this marriage any more than Margareta did. She was doing him a favor. 

She had only fleetingly considered what would happen if he did not agree to withdraw his suit as she hoped. She had no real care for her own reputation. She never thought to marry, so that the world thought her precious virginity gone meant little to her. She would no doubt be thought of as foolish and silly to have fallen for a well-known libertine’s advances. That she would have to paint him as such was somehow less forgivable to her now. As she lay there she ran her fingers over her aching throat. Though she’d come out the worse for it, she was the one who had tricked him, not the other way around. He was innocent of anything more than what was a reasonable reaction to waking up with a stranger in your bed. Would she have done less were the situation reversed? Still, she had to hope he would see reason. He grumbled and turned over, his bare rump wriggling back against her before he fell still again. 

It was tempting to turn with him, to rest against his warmth and let her fingers drift across his skin. No matter which way this went, it wasn’t as if she’d ever have another chance to be so close to a man like this. She frowned at her own thoughts and slid from the bed in disgust at her own wandering imagination. 

Once she had her feet, she considered just leaving. He could think it all a dream and … no. Even if she could imagine she’d be able to hide the bruises he’d no doubt left her with, the blood would raise too many questions. The plan had to go forth unchanged. She drew the blankets over his naked frame, protecting him from the chill of night and her own curiosity. He did not rouse then, nor when she pulled the chair to turn a bit so she could watch and wait as night slowly gave way to the hazy indigo of approaching dawn.


	6. Chapter 6

It was too bright. He pulled the covers up over his head, wanting to crawl back into the pleasant dreams he had been enjoying, but they were like an ancient tapestry crumbling to tattered threads. The harder he tried to hold on, the faster it fell apart. Everything ached. His tongue felt and tasted like the sole of a boot after a five-mile march through a swamp. He rolled over and reached for the pillow, pulling it to better hide the persistent brightness. A huff of frustration as he pulled it tighter, the faint stick of pinfeathers through the fabric scratching lightly at his cheek. That was wrong. He had ordered special quilted covers over all his pillows to prevent such prickles. Why were they now tormenting him like a dozen tiny insects? 

Slowly, his muddled mind recalled he was not in his own bed. He was halfway across the continent in the rustic manor of a dreary man. A man whose daughter he was to marry tomorrow. No, not tomorrow. The brightness meant morning. He married today. Ugh! His head was fit to crack in half! He groaned and prayed it was not a hangover but some kind of plague that would kill him before he had to swear eternal devotion to a woman who made his skin crawl. 

What time was it? Where was Caspar? The heel of his hand dug into his eyes as he yawned and stretched beneath the covers. He suddenly realized he was naked. How had that happened? He remembered the exhausting evening, of being a show pony on display, of a crushingly tiresome meal made endurable only by the admittedly delicious repast. He could clearly recall coming upstairs with Caspar and breaking into the port. Caspar and he were talking... then Caspar was heading to bed and he’d opened a second bottle… or was it a third? One thought was clear. He needed to relieve himself. 

With a groan he crawled to the edge of the bed and swung his legs out, never abandoning the shelter the blanket, pulled like a hooded cloak over his head, walking with shuffling place to the garderobe. As he leaned against the wall, the face of his bride swam to the fore of his thoughts. His stomach lurched. He recalled comparing her in his mind to a finely sculpted gemstone-encrusted bottle of adder venom. No matter how beautiful she might be, there was something unhealthy inside. When he had done what nature required, he let the blanket slide off a bit, in the shadowy alcove he could let his eyes adjust slowly. Leaning in to rest his forehead on the cold stone of the wall with a quiet groan of pain and defeat. 

"Good morning, My Lord."

His eyes shot open and he whipped around, catching sight of a dark-haired woman sitting in the chair beside the window. His head gave a stab of pain at the brightness of the window behind her and his tongue stalled against the floor of his mouth. "Wha... who..." he rasped, pulling the blankets around him to hide his bare chest as his brain fought to comprehend what was going on. The sunlight was painting the side of her face with a rosy golden glow, the remainder was draped in shadows. It was a familiar face whose name was elusive. Rena? Carlotta? Renata! Why was she in his room at this early hour?

“You look a bit unwell.” She rose, moving to pour him a cup of water from a pitcher. His eyes focused, finally, though part of him wished he could retain the ignorance that came with the blurred vision. The heavy woolen dressing gown covered her mostly, but the thin linen chemise beneath was bordering on translucence, especially with the backlight from the window. Though it was only arms and her lower legs that were so clearly silhouetted it was enough to encourage his base mind to seek to fill in the blanks. The hair that had been so impeccably braided the day before was now loose in a waved curtain of deep brown that swished across her back as she walked toward him, holding the water out.

"You were very deep in your cups last night, My Lord. I expect you're still a bit muddled." The water offered as she regarded him with a look that frustrated him because he couldn't make his brain work to decipher it. "Drink, if you please."

Snatching and draining it in a few swift gulps, he stalked past her pouring another for himself. "What are you doing in my room?" He glowered as he looked around for his pants.

"I have been here all night, My Lord." She did not sound regretful, nor did she sound seductive. She sounded... resigned. She gave a glance behind him, and he turned, the small but obvious streaks of crimson boldly stark against the sheet.

"Wait.. we...?" he racked his brain. There were vague flashes of Caspar and the port and the soft bed, a ... a body in his arms. Warm lips, and a feminine moan of pleasure in his ear ..." he looked up at her. "We ...?"

"It would appear so, My Lord." Her placid tone was grating him. How could she be so calm!?

"If I... if we..." he groaned and sat down on the edge of the bed, guiltily moving the remaining blankets to obscure the stain of blood. He could not think clearly. If he'd taken this girl's chastity, he could not very well treat her like some alehouse strumpet and do nothing. He had ruined his host's adopted daughter. This was terrible. In mere hours he was set to marry one daughter, and now he'd corrupted the other. There was no good path. No matter what he did, there would be a scandal and the man he'd come to make an ally of would instead become an enemy. An enemy he did not need right now. Rubbing at his splitting temples with his fingertips he glanced up at her. "I suppose I am forced to do the noble thing..." resignation and regret in his tone.

"No."

"No?!" He barked and winced at his own volume. "What do you mean 'no'?" Glaring up at her from bleary eyes.

She walked toward him, standing just out of reach, her tone and posture quite businesslike despite the fact they had seemingly spent a night of passion with one another. " _If_ you will give me your word that, going forward from this house you shall bear my father no ill will. _If_ you enter into the promised agreement with him to supply your lands with grain for the exchange of those boons your lands may provide, thus making both stronger for it.” Each ‘if’ marked by a raising of a finger to count them. “And _if_ you release Margareta from the bonds of your engagement quietly, I will speak nothing of what happened last night. You will have only the boons this trip promised and none of the pains."

He simply stared at her, unable to process what she was saying. She made no sense. Why wasn’t she … weeping or rending her garments or whatever it was deflowered virgins were supposed to do?! Upon consideration, he had no idea what virgins were supposed to do. She was his first of the kind. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound would come out. She obviously took this gobsmacked state as an invitation to continue.

"It is no secret you are a misanthropic sort. You have no wish to wed and so to come, make your bargain without a wife, it shows you only as holding to your natural inclinations and, if I may say, testifies of your business acumen. To have gotten the wheat you desired and not the wife you did not? It does you only good. If, however..." her tone shifted to a cooler tone. "You choose to press this wedding today and I will tearfully tell everyone what happened here. My father will throw you out, and you will have no grain, no alliance, and your name will always be tied to this sordid story."

"As will yours." He croaked, annoyance unlocking his tongue.

“What is the saying, My Lord? Once one's bed is made, they must lie in it?” She shrugged faintly, resolved to that course it seemed. How could any girl be so callous? Did she not understand it would make her damaged goods? She would never have a decent offer of marriage, she would wither and die unloved and alone.

"You seem all too happy to lie." he fumed as he threw the wooden cup to the side, a faint clatter barely heard. "To let the world believe you are pure still, but only if I bend to your blackmail?" His hand rose and wound slow around her throat, meaning only to frighten her, but when she flinched, he moved his fingers enough to note that there were bruises there already beneath the high collar of her nightdress. Ugly swaths of ruddy purple and the telltale half-moon cuts of nails. Marks that fit his own grip perfectly. "Matron's mercy..." he muttered as she turned and moved away, her calm features now sharp and wary as a cat's. "What did I do last night?"

"It is not a matter of what you did last night, but will you do this morning?" Wrapping the deep emerald wool dressing gown more securely around her. "Will you accept the gift I am giving you? You will have your freedom and our grain. You will have trade and prosperity and you may continue your life of debauchery and drunkenness as pleases you. Be appeased. Claim your own reasons as you will, but take your men and go without worry you have wounded my sister in any way. I am certain that Margareta will not want for suitors to step up when you are clear of the other side of the aisle."

"And what will become of you?" He regretted throwing the cup away now, his tongue still tasting like he’d licked a stable clean. "Surely you have suitors of your own. You can never marry now that I have ruined you."

"I am content to be my father's chatelaine and to care for him, and this house until he leaves this world. I will, when the lands pass to the next heir, adjourn to where women whom marriage does not suit go. I will devote myself to a temple perhaps. A place of service and contemplation. If I am no longer chaste, it is not as if anyone will ever have cause to know." She smiled almost consolingly. "Everyone will have what they want.” She nodded once and lifted her chin, as if they were conversing in the street and not standing nigh to naked in his bedroom. “Shall I see to having some breakfast sent up? I am sure you will be anxious to be on your way as soon as you tell my father that he does not have to give up Margareta to get your alliance.”

"No you will not." he was feeling as if he was having control of his own choices wrested from him. He was hungover and naked and thirsty and upset and something else that only a clear head could have named. "You will…” He looked around in a pique. “You will sit in that chair and you will let me think for two minutes without your incessant prattling!" he hissed through his headache and threw open his door, stalking to the next to bang upon it with the side of his fist. "Caspar! Get up. I have need of you."

From within, he heard soft murmurs and female tittering, then the mussed figure of his friend appeared in the faintly opened crack of the door, shirtless and his trousers were only half done but at least he was dressed. "You bellowed?" A tipsy grin as he leaned against the door jamb, a female hand sliding around his waist from behind the door. "I'm a little busy at the moment."

"Now!" He glowered, the knitting of his brows only exacerbating his headache.

"Fine, fine.." he plucked the hand away from his naked stomach, lifted it to a kiss before unwinding from the unseen woman’s grip, his shirt in hand, stepping out to follow, attempting to lace up his trousers as he walked, head bowed. "What is so vital it could not wait for me to bid my lovely company a proper good morning? Just because _you_ didn't have any fun last ni...”

“Oh! Is that what you think?” he growled as he threw his own door open. 

The room was empty. She had vanished. There was no sight of her in the chair or anywhere else. A quick scan proved that she had not gone empty-handed. His bed was stripped back, the sheets were missing though the cover of the featherbed still held a hint of the stain that would hang him if she revealed it. "How..." he mused as he looked around the room, Caspar, pulling his shirt over his head, moving to stand beside him. That… that conniving, cold-hearted, vicious little vixen! He had been no more than a half dozen feet from his door, and somehow, she had slipped away unseen with her arms full of linens. He fumed, his temper rising with every breath through his nose, teeth grinding faintly as his hands curled into fists.

“Dear Gods, what did you do?” Caspar’s voice of shock barely heard as he looked to the spots of crimson still visible.

“It’s not what I did last night that matters.” He echoed back, a plan beginning to form. “It is what I will do today.”


	7. Chapter 7

Wilhelm was grateful indeed for Caspar’s presence that morning. Without it, he’d likely have run off like a headless chicken, all fury and no sense. Instead, Cas made him sit, drinking until the water in the pitcher was diminished by half. Once his bladder had filled and emptied again his headache began to fade and his mind grew more clear.

“I still don’t understand,” Caspar spoke as he refilled the cup yet again. “You were quite alone when I left you last night, and so far down the road to drunkenness that I fully expected I’d have to come to scrape you up off the floor this morning. I didn’t expect you’d have gone out and found company.” He chuckled softly. “Especially that particular company.”

He glowered as he took the cup. “I didn’t **go** anywhere. I remember finishing the bottle after you left, and I was tired. Upset. I began thinking of the last wedding we attended.” A pained glance shot to Capar who averted his eyes and nodded. “I …” he frowned in concentration. “I went to bed, I think. I remember I was having a dream and she was in it…”

“Brigitta?” Caspar said with sympathy.

“No… the girl. Renata.” he rubbed at his temples, unsure what he had dreamed and what had been real. He had been reliving the terrible massacre at his sister’s wedding feast, had been fleeing the assassins, running down a long hallway and everything was darkness. He tumbled into a great abyss and threw out his hand, grabbing tight to anything to keep him from falling. It was then she appeared like some angel from the darkness, driving away the fear. Was his imagination so strong that even now he could feel her there beneath him, smell her perfume, taste her on his lips? “And then I woke up and there she was.” 

“In your bed?” Caspar smiled faintly.

“No, in that chair you’re in. Just, perched there like it was a bench in the town square.” Indignation and confusion playing merry hell with his thought process. “She was so very calm. As if being present as a man rose from a shared bed was commonplace. I might have believed it was if not for the evidence to the contrary." A flick of his hand toward the faint but present stain. "She informed me she'd never tell a soul if I agreed to the alliance without demanding the bride I came for. I could go back to Ravenswood and would have, as she put it, all of the boons and none of the pains.”

"I see. Well then, why don't you? You don't want to marry Margareta. It seems your decision is made for you."

“And that is the problem!” He rose and began to pace. "I do not like having my choices made without me. If I am to marry shouldn't I have the only say in it? Why must all my choices be made by other people!?"

Caspar nodded to himself. "So let us imagine you have no voice but your own to tell you what to do. What say you? What do **you** want to do."

"I want to ..." he stopped himself and his jaw muscle flinched as he set his teeth. "I certainly can’t marry the girl after all this." 

"Well, you shouldn't. She's obviously a wicked person. Anyone with sense can see it." Caspar’s tone was casual as he folded his hands over his waist and stretched his legs out before him, crossing them at the ankle. 

"She seemed so dull. So quiet and withdrawn and then... this?" He drained the water and slammed the cup down, stepping away to find a shirt. "Showing up in a man's room at night, alone, barely dressed, smelling like lilacs... anybody would have done what I did."

"A harlot, doubtless. To attempt to steal you from her own sister? For shame. Little strumpet probably realized when she saw your disgust at being tricked that her plan had failed." He offered a look of sympathy. "Probably years spent jealous of her sister's greater beauty, charm, wit, poise, generosity.." each word was a poniard struck into Wilhelm’s hide. "... so she plotted to trick you and force you to marry her instead."

“Oh…!” he turned, finger in the air, his face a mask of irritation, sputtering a moment in his frustration. “Oh, you think so do you? I was fully prepared to do the right thing and the little chit turned me down!” He growled as he jerked a clean shirt down over his head, leaving the tousled blonde strands sticking up wildly. "I offered, and she said 'no'. He tucked his shirt in with violent motions and tied his fly shut. "Cut me off before I could even ask in fact. Shot me down like a hunter taking a rabbit. Without even a blink. Like I was some low thing beneath her notice. As though she wanted no part of me. Well, last night I can tell you that she wanted every part of me!" His finger-pointing at the air in gesticulation again.

Caspar bowed his head and set his lips into a tight line. He seemed to be weighing his words very carefully. "You should have her anyway." He focused on his nails as he shrugged casually. "Show her that you're the only one who controls your choices. She made her bed, she ought well to lie in it." Glancing up to meet his eyes. 

The thought made Wilhelm pause a moment. It was ludicrous to even imagine. Even if it would show the girl that she was not so clever as she thought. He’d be lying to say he was not at least mildly intrigued by the idea. The thought of having her in his bed again was not at all unpleasant. No. It couldn’t be done. “I cannot just go to Lord Rosenfeld and tell him I want to switch brides.” He pulled his boots on, shaking his head and inwardly wishing that it was that simple.

“True. You and I both know that losing Renata would be a much deeper cut to Lord Rosenfeld. It would take something very persuasive to make him agree to let you take _her_ away. ”

Wilhelm nodded, his arms folding over his chest. “He could not object, I suppose if I confess what happened last night. I have, after all, ruined the girl. I ought to simply tell him the truth and …” 

“...and he may well do something rash as any protective father might. Give in to temper rather than sense. Toss you out and paint you as the blackguard who abused his generosity and kindness by forcing yourself on his innocent child and breaking dear Margareta's tender heart.” Hands clasped beneath his chin in a truly melodramatic manner as he batted his lashes, then dropped the facade and smirked. “I, however, have a plan that will not besmirch the lady or provoke her father’s ire.

Wilhelm didn’t trust the look in Caspar’s eye, but at this point, he was grasping and whatever choice he had that did not end in him having to marry Margareta.

“These lands will be yours, will they not?” Caspar smiled to himself. “When Lord Rosenfeld dies, as his son-in-law you will inherit?” 

“Naturally, but I…”

“I suggest you make a small change to the agreement. Add an addendum saying that these lands will go into the name of your wife, and not yourself when the good Lord Rosenfeld passes to the next world.” He raised a hand to stop any interruption. “It is well within the letter of the law for a woman to inherit if it is written as such. Many rich widows can attest to that. It is only when it is not laid out implicitly that it moves only along the male line.” 

Wilhelm mulled it over, for a few moments and he saw the brilliance of the plan. “Lord Rosenfeld is not a fool. Margareta inheriting the lands? He’d rather spend his last days in the pursuit of litchdom than see that happen. Renata, on the other hand, he would … yes.” he nodded. “It might work...”

Caspar stood and set a hand on his shoulder. “After all, Margareta has no lack of suitors. He can use her to land another fine fish, can he not? Renata seemed to not care if she ever married at all.” 

“Yes.” Wilhelm nodded to himself, still trying to make his brain fully engage as he sought to find any potential snag in the plot. “Said so herself just this morning when she turned me down.” He was letting the darker side of his nature step to the fore. Old memories that whispered poison in his ears. His father’s voice over and again telling him how pitiful and stupid he was. How he was unworthy of his family name. Was he so low and useless that even some rustic tart judged him as beneath her? No. He would have her. He would make her regret having turned him down as if he were dirt.

“Go. Prepare the papers. I will meet you in Lord Rosenfeld’s study in one hour.” He smiled slowly. “I have to get ready for my wedding.” For the first time, that sentence brought something other than dread in its wake.

= = = = =

The door closed behind him, Caspar could not help but grin and send up a thankful acknowledgment to whatever benevolence had been listening to his half-assed prayers the night before. This was beyond his expectation.

Entering his room, he found it empty, the bedclothes still in place, still rumpled, and still smelling of the fiery redhead who had shared it through the night. No doubt the lovely Amelia had much to do today, what with the wedding and all. Caspar laughed as he began to remove the clothes he’d plucked up from the floor and thrown on when his Lord had come banging at his door so early. The wedding would be something to remember indeed. 

He had read Renata wrong, he supposed. He had judged her sweet, innocent, kind and meek. He had trouble picturing her as the sort of brazen seductress that Wilhelm had been rambling about when first he’d drug him to his room. Sputtering snippets about kisses and her asking him to undress and how she smelled of lilac. Attempting to both convey and protect the more intimate details of the night before. The blood was real enough, as was the faint smell of those bright blossoms that clung to the pillows, the only part of the bedding she had not purloined. A long dark hair lay twisted beneath one, further proof that his Lord was neither dreaming nor mad. 

Whatever had happened last night, it was obvious that the mousy chatelaine of House Rosenfeld had gotten under his Lord's skin quite effectively. As he'd watched Wilhelm, so very obviously enamored with the girl, he realized he could use it to assure the new Lady of Ravenswood was the sort who would improve it, and perhaps even the Lord himself. 

He’d pricked at Wilhelm’s feelings for the girl, besmirched her to make Wil inwardly take her side, then with feigned disinterest, he planted the idea of marrying the girl. Framed it as some manner of punishment. Of Wilhelm getting one over on her rather than letting her win. He saw the hook swallowed and had a hard time not grinning outright. It was, perhaps, unkind to manipulate him so, but it had been done for the right reasons. 

Once dressed, he set himself to the tasks before him. He took pen in hand, composing the addendum with such language that it would not be obvious at first scan what it entailed. No doubt Lord Rosenfeld would merely skim it, the first few sentences, the last pair… the middle at best brushed over. By the time he knew what he’d signed it would be done. The ink dried, he rolled it up and made his way down to Lord Rosenfeld’s study to unobtrusively add it to the pile of papers that would be signed before the wedding. 

The tables from the night before had been whisked away and long benches with cushions were set to either side of an ersatz aisle in the center of the room. The balcony above was hung with white linen bunting, and ribbon-bound nosegays of wildflowers hung down to fragrance the air. As he expected, in the middle of the bustling was the figure of Renata, directing servants. He took her in as he paused on the stairs. She looked no different than the night before, save her hair was braided into a single plait and her dress was different. The high collar seemed more suited to the winter than a fine spring day like today, the stiffened lace at the edge brushing against her chin as she worked, her features slightly flushed with the warmth of even early morning.

“Good morning, my dear lady.” he bowed his head as he continued, crossing the room to pause before her with a bow of his head, rolled parchments in his hands. “I hope you are well today?” He could tell in an instant that he had betrayed himself and she suspected he knew. He saw the shame rise to pink her cheeks, and the blues dipped, then rose as he read the defiance in them. 

“I am well enough, Sir. I trust you got ample rest?”

He was suddenly possessed of the realization that Amelia had been sent as a distraction. Truth told he had been far too busy the night before to have heard anything from the room adjacent. Well played. “Admittedly, sleep eluded, but when I did, at last, fall to sleeping it was peaceful and deep, thank you.” said with a wide smile.

“I know it can be difficult to rest well in a bed that is not your own.” Her smile cast back like a gambler throwing coin to raise the bet. Daring him to call and prove he knew what cards she held. 

He chose only to smile slightly wider and give a slight bobbing of his head in agreement. “I hear that is so.” He waved the papers slightly. “Forgive me, My Lady, I must off to deliver these to your father. My Lord is marrying in less than three hours after all. So much to do.” He stepped past her and entered the study, his smirk restrained until he was safely alone. 

He wished he were a painter so he could have immortalized the look on her face. Shock, frustration, disappointment… oh, if only she knew what this afternoon would bring.


	8. Chapter 8

Closing her door quickly, she pressed her hand to her heart. She had been shocked at the look in von Friedrich’s man’s eyes. Blissfully thrilled to tell her that his Lord was marrying in but a few hours. Rubbing in that her plan had gone to shite. What was she to do? Play along as though nothing had happened or make good on her threat and tell her father that she had spent the night in the Lord’s bed? 

If she did nothing, it was only a matter of time before Margareta’s state was known. It would mean scandal and ruin. She envisioned Margareta thrown into her father’s arms, accusations spat, the alliance broken, and without von Friedrich’s half of the agreement, should the Julosian threat at the border grow stronger, her people would have no hope of defending themselves. 

If she feigned innocence ruined, showed the sheet to her father, no doubt he’d demand that von Friedrich do the right thing. It would spare Margareta, doubtless, but the alliance would be built upon a lie. A deceit that, though she’d meant well, had now spiraled out of control, or else he’d refuse to take her, for which she would not blame him, and there would be no alliance at all.

Groaning, her face buried in her hands, she hung her head. How had it all gone so very wrong? It would be easy to blame Margareta for letting that worthless Thomas beneath her skirts in the first place, but it was hardly Margareta’s fault she was like she was. Father had spoiled her all her life and that had made her a bit thoughtless when it came to the repercussions of her actions. Pipers had to be paid, always. Now she had to face the cost of her own folly. With a single nod, she marched to the foot of her bed and flung open the chest. 

From under the other linens, she withdrew the stained sheet she’d purloined along with all the other bedding from upstairs. Fleeing in a panic, she’d grabbed all she could and shoved it down the secret passage before he could return. The other unaffected bedlothes were even now being carted to old Bess, the washerwoman, hidden in among bags of tablecloths and other linens from the banquet. Only the single sheet remained to give credence to her accusation. She did not even flinch as she tossed it onto the low fire in the grate. Whatever path she chose it would not be to trap him with such an untruth. She’d just have to hope he was a better man than most, and that he would bear her father no ill will for the crimes of his daughters. 

Returning to the common room, she could smell the wedding feast begun. The local gentry and nobles who had taken accommodations nearby would arrive soon. She had just decided to go see if Margareta had yet roused from her bed when the door to her father’s study flew open and he looked around wildly, spying her in an instant. “Go get your sister. Now.”

“Of course, Father.” she was startled not just by his sudden appearance nearly bowling her over, but the look on his face which was so complex she couldn’t even fathom what all the emotions were, but he was obviously not happy. She sprinted for the stairs, mounting them two at a time and pushed into Margareta’s room.

Her sister was awake, thankfully, perched on the gilded stool before her vanity while her maid brushed out her hair. “Gods, Renata, do you never knock.” She huffed in her usual tone of derision. “What do you want?”

“Father says he must see you. Now.” She bit at her lip, still worried over what was going to be said.

“What does he want now.” She huffed. “Go tell him I am dressing and I will not be rushed. Today is my wedding day after all. I must look my best.” She turned her head this way and that as Ilsa worked to brush without pulling.

“But Margareta…” she tried to be understanding. “It might well be important. He … Lord von Friedrich I mean, he may have changed his mind.” That had the impact she hoped for, but not the reaction.

“He can’t!” She stood up, pushing Ilsa aside as she began to pace, her silken gown whispering in her wake. “I will admit I wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of being traded off like cattle, but...that was before I met him. You were right, Renata, he is handsome and wealthy and strong...” She smiled and wrapped her arms around herself with a coo of decadent delight.

Renata found her mind drifting to the remembrance of just how fine and handsome he truly was. Shaking her head to clear away the lurid thoughts she bit her lip. “But Thomas. What about the ….” She cut a quick glance to Ilsa who she was not certain knew of the coming blessed event.

Margareta waved her hand and scoffed. “Forget that.” She folded her arms. “I shouldn’t have thrown such a fit. Father must think I’m very unhappy indeed. I will just have to clarify that I am quite content to marry His Lordship.” She flounced to pluck up a gown from her wardrobe, ignoring the sumptuous frock laid across her coverlet. Noting the glance, she smiled and pushed the dress into Ilsa’s arms so the servant could help her get into it. “Can’t have him seeing me in my wedding dress just yet though.”

A half-hour later, she followed Margareta down to her father’s study, her stomach twisted into knots. The room was not large, but she’d always loved it. The walls were dark panels of wooden squares and the window here was tall and made of varied shades of glass in no particular pattern. It was quiet and peaceful usually. Today, it was like stepping into a budding storm, all electricity and tension. Her father stood with his arms folded, staring into the fire in the grate, the Lord of Ravenswood stood in the corner of the room, thumbing through a worn copy of the land reports from a few years back.

“Ah, my blushing bride at last.” He smiled toward them as he returned the book to the shelf. “I was hoping you would not keep me waiting too long.”

“It takes a lady a bit of time to make herself presentable, My Lord.” Margareta purred as she curtsied, her blues flashing up at him beneath the lashes. “I was in the midst of preparation when I was told Father wished to speak with me. I did not expect to see you here.” She shifted her eyes to her father, looking so dour by the fire. “I hope I am not disturbing anything.”

“Margareta…” Her father began, and seeing a chance to escape, Renata stepped back to close the door and leave them to their conversation. “Renata, step inside and close the door.” She had no choice but to obey, keeping her eyes on her father as he paced back and forth before the fire, gesturing at the air as he spoke. “I am uncertain where to begin this. You see... alliances can be tricky things. Lots of paperwork and sometimes things get a bit muddled and things must, as the situation alters, change. Things we thought would happen… don’t. For all sorts of reasons...”

Margareta blinked looking confused. “So… what are you saying?” Looking between her father and the Lord of Ravenswood. “There is no wedding?” Renata had thought until today that this news would be welcome by her sister. Now she knew it was anything but.

“Well, you see…” Lord Rosenfeld twisted his fingers before his waist. “Lord Von Freidrich added an… a bit of a … well, he thought it would be a fine gift but…” He fidgeted, flustered. “And after I realized… I…” He nodded once as punctuation to his rambling, finally looking up at his daughter. “I know you were not looking forward to marrying Lord von Friedrich, Margareta. You’ve been locked away in your room weeping since the match was announced. Now, you have no more cause for tears.” He gave a half-hearted smile.

Hearing this, the honey-sweet facade melted and fury cut into Margareta’s face. She fumed and stomped her foot. “What?! I have never been so humiliated in my life! There are people coming expecting to see my wedding today. When they hear there is none, that I have been rejected?!” She glared at Lord Von Friederich, her eyes welling with histrionic tears. “Why would you seek to make a fool of me!” 

“My Lady…” he stepped forward and took her hands firmly in his own. “Your guests will have nothing unkind to say about you, I am sure. I have no intention to make a fool of you.” He lifted her hands, a kiss pressed to her fingertips, looking into her eyes to assure he had her full attention. “ It is my intention to make a sister of you.”

= = = = =

He let Margareta’s hands go and stepped past her, his smile predatory as he slid his fingers up along the line of a throat he knew to lay bruised beneath the high collar she wore today, his touch gentle but determined as he bent his head and claimed Renata's lips with his own. A rush of fever poured into his veins, coiled up tension within him and fed those shadows. She tasted warm and sweet and he pulled her onto her toes, made her mold to his frame, felt with a surge of triumph her hands on his shoulders cease to push and the press of fingers drawing her into him at last.

The kiss broken, he bowed his head enough that lips still burning with the passion of it could rest by her ear. “One word of argument and I throw the damn papers on the fire and leave here your enemy.” Assuring she knew he had played the winning hand and she was the one trapped now. He was barely aware of the fact his future sister-in-law was shoving her way past and out the door, her father quickly following, calling out her name.

He was glad to see that even as he straightened she had not pulled away from him. “My Lord…” her voice barely louder than breath, her eyes wide and innocent, her lips parted. He had never wanted anything the way he suddenly wanted this woman. The surge of possessiveness and hunger frightened him as much as it thrilled him. “You cannot.”

“Oh, I can do whatever I want.” he smiled to himself and reached back behind her to flick the door with his fingertips, the heavy oak swinging closed as he pressed her back toward it, his fingers at the nape of her neck petting the soft hairs that had come loose of her tight braid as he lowered his face toward hers, not kissing her again, but feeling her lips just a fraction of an inch from his own, awaiting the moment she’d succumb and kiss him of her own volition. “... and I want you.”

She made a soft kittenish sound of distress, her fingers drawn into fists against his shoulders, her breath soft against his lips. “Please.” She nervously sent her tongue to dampen her lips only too late realizing how near his own were to them. “I can’t marry you.”

He rose slowly, his hand moving to rest against her jaw, petting his thumb along the lower edge of her bottom lip. “You are in love with someone else then?” He was holding those demons back with all his strength now. He hated that he felt that stab of jealousy so keenly.

“Of course not.” She averted her eyes, her cheeks heated and he could feel her pulse under his fingertips racing. She could pretend all she liked that she was unmoved by his nearness, but he knew better. Why then did the idea of being his wife seem so repugnant to her?

“Was I so poor a lover, Renata?” He pouted a bit. “To be fair, I was very drunk. I am not drunk now, shall I try again to be more impressive?” She gasped and looked at him with shock, making it impossible not to smile at her. She was so very easy to get to rise to his baiting.

“My Lord do be serious!” She spoke in a whisper as if afraid someone would overhear. “Did you tell my father that? About… last night? It is why you are marrying me, is it not? My Lord, If that is so, I have to confess that…”

“No.” He interrupted, taking her by the upper arms and drawing her with him away from the door. “I am marrying you because for once in my life I will do what I choose. No one will decide my future for me. ” He lowered his voice as he met her eyes. “We wed in one hour and not a moment more. If I have to come hunting you, you will not like what will follow.” He gave a curt nod and stepped out, walking hastily out and toward the open front door, hoping some fresh air might soothe his rankled nerves. 


	9. Chapter 9

The carriage jostled her faintly, her hands gripping the edge of the seat to keep from tumbling over, her mind still unable to fathom how in less than twenty-four hours, everything that she had come to accept defined her existence had been upended. Her family, her home, her duties as chatelaine of Rosenfeld Manor, her plans to live unchanged and unmarried, all that was as dissolved as a bit of smoke in the wind.

She had been in shock when Lord von Friedrich had announced he was not marrying Margareta as he did. The surprise when she had been kissed had rendered her speechless long enough for Margareta and her father to leave the room. She had tried to confess. To tell him the truth so he would not commit such a foolish act, but, he would not listen. He left for a walkabout and she tried to buy as much time as she could, speaking to the servants, making it clear to all of them what she intended for the next few months. She had a few who she knew would help keep the manor afloat, who promised to write weekly reports on the lands and the house. It was not ideal, the Zemni Fields were quite the impediment, but she’d make it work, somehow. 

When the guests began arriving, her father had forced her to abandon that task and to prepare to meet her groom. He was, if possible, less enthused than she was. She did what she could to soothe him, swearing she would write and visit as often as she possibly could. That with the alliance saved, he could look forward to all the benefits. It did little to raise his spirits, and he left her to dress with a face like a man at a funeral instead of a wedding. 

The preparations were equally somber. The maids helping her dress vacillated between obviously feigned cheer and barely hidden tears. Her own mood was one of fearful uncertainty. It was like some terrible joke whose punchline would bring only humiliation. She donned a gown of ivory raw silk beneath a surcote of cream and gold brocade that caught the light as she moved. Her dark hair quickly but smoothly plaited into a single long braid draped across her shoulder, ribbons of golden satin woven into its length. Every other item of clothing she owned was packed into the single chest, another filled with her personal items, both of which already carried down to be loaded onto the wagon that would follow them back to Ravenswood. Far too soon, the knock came to the door and she rose to open it still half sure that she’d wake up any moment to find this was some troubling dream. 

Her father gasped softly and tears welled in the corners of his eyes. "You look... beautiful." He stood straighter and lifted his chin. "It is time." 

She peeked around the edge of the door, at the all-too-full benches flanking the aisle, and at the end of it, Lord von Freidrich. For several seconds he looked toward her, his features unreadable before he raised his hands and spoke, drawing the attention of the crowd. 

"Herren and Dammen...a moment, if you allow.” His voice firm and every eye was on him, every tongue stilled. "As I journeyed across the Zemni Feilds, I had ample time to think of what lay before me. An alliance with a fine house, a union of two strong families that will mutually aid one another through hardships, and celebrate with one another in times of bounty.” He chuckled quietly. “Though, to be fair, most of my thoughts were directed toward my future bride.” 

A faint purring of amusement at his confession, as most there of his gender would have been likewise occupied with thoughts of the stunning Margareta. “Though I had never met her myself, all praised the wonderous daughter of the House of Rosenfeld. Upon my arrival, I was presented with a creature who in every way surpassed any imagining I might have indulged in. I had never seen so amiable, so kind, so lovely a woman. I was doubly determined to make her mine.” He looked at her, and she felt a little twinge in her chest, for he was a fine actor indeed. Had she not ample reason to believe otherwise, she’d have thought him sincere. She felt her father’s hand draw hers to lie in the crook of his arm, his body stiff with tension. She swallowed hard as she stepped out of the room, thankfully the crowd was too busy watching Lord von Freidrich to have noted her yet. 

“You must understand then how shocked I was when I was introduced to the beautiful Lady Margareta an hour later.” The crowd buzzed with confused muttering, looking around at one another, a gasp rose and heads turned. Lord von Friedrich looked at her as the room began to whisper amongst themselves, lifting his voice over it with a steely determination. “As we spoke, it became obvious to me that my intended bride was not overjoyed with her father’s choice in husband either. For her happiness, and to ensure my own, I risked all and confessed my plight to her father. Lord Rosenfeld, being wise, deigned to grant me what I judge to be the greatest treasure of his house, the sweet Renata."

She would not let herself betray her annoyance or her unease. He was certainly a silver-tongued devil. All this talk made it seem some great romance and not that she’d tricked him into marrying her. For despite his insistence that he was doing it because he wished to, not because of what had, in his mind anyway, passed between them the night before, she knew of no other reason he’d be doing this. At the aisle’s end, her hand given over, she spoke the vows of fealty to him as her Lord and her husband. He swore his intention to tend to her care and to treat her with honor as the mother of his children and Lady of his house. 

The vows sealed, he kissed her, chaste and warm, a far different kiss than he had given her in the study. The moments after were a whirlwind. They had lingered but a quarter-hour, her goodbyes swiftly given and then they were riding for the East, her new husband sitting far more easily in his seat across from her. 

"It is far to Ravenswood, My Lord. Will be riding all night?" She asked quietly when a few long miles had passed.

He looked across the carriage at her, seemingly deep in thought. “We ride for The Chandler's Inn. Have you ever had occasion to visit?" Now that they were alone, he seemed a bit stiff and uneasy.

"No, My Lord. I have not ventured much past the edge of my father's land, and I know of it. It is a pleasant place, I am told.” She tried not to think of what stopping for the night would mean. She sought a topic, anything civil to distract herself from the recollection of his bare body against her. “Perhaps, My Lord, you might tell me of Ravenswood? What is it like?"

He frowned a bit. He did not seem to find the vein of conversation pleasant. "It is nothing like your home. It is larger. It is … somewhat somber in compare to Rosenfeld. No cheerful whitewashed wood or bright brick. It is dark and dreary and the high mountains at its back add to that air of the forbidding. My father's taste was what one might expect from a general in the king's army. Most of the decor is, in some way, lethal. The only exceptions are the nursery and my mother's rooms. Those are devoid of weapons...” he chuckled faintly. "for the most part."

She nodded, her eyes on her linked fingers in her lap as she sat across from him. "If I may be so bold, it does not sound as if you share your father's tastes, My Lord. Do you permit that I might make alterations to brighten it a bit?" She glanced up. 

He narrowed his eyes, his lips pressing together, appearing to have stopped some words behind them, swallowing them and thinking of others that he preferred. “Ravenswood has been as it is as long as I have known it. What might seem nothing of importance to your eyes might well be valuable to mine. I am content with it as it stands.” He glanced away, his hand running over his jaw faintly. “Still, you impress me as being sensible, so if you do find something is displeasing and you must change it… ask and I will consider it.”

"I understand, My Lord." She got the idea very quickly that change was not something he was fond of. Why then had he chosen to marry her rather than just withdraw his suit, mollifying her father with the agreement to hold to the alliance? She knew the answer, and though it was not a pleasant conversation to imagine, she had to speak. “My Lord von Freidrich, I must ask you again wh…"

"The dress is beautiful." He gestured toward her. “You… look very nice.” 

"Oh. Yes, thank you.” She nodded once, a bit off-footed when directed away from what she'd been trying to say. “When father agreed to your suit, he had the dressmaker come almost immediately to begin making Margareta her wedding dress. My sister was quite particular about what she wanted. When it arrived, Margareta didn't like it.” Plucking lightly at the edge of her tightly laced sleeves. “The seamstress was very unhappy. I thought since Margareta did not want it… “ A shrug. “So the seamstress made some adjustments and I was allowed to buy it for a very good price." 

“I cannot imagine she would have looked half so lovely,” said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Thank you, My Lord von Freidrich.” 

“Can you not call me Wilhelm? We are, after all, married. Speaking my name is far less intimate than… other things we have already done after all.” He seemed to have wanted to be teasing but the shift of mood was not toward levity. She had to tell him the truth. 

“My Lord.” She swallowed hard and clasped her hands tightly in her lap. “You … you have said you did not marry me because of what happened between us last night?” 

“I married you because I chose to. I am used to getting what I want.” 

He sounded so cavalier. It must be nice indeed to just do what pleased you and worry nothing for the inevitable price. “You say so, My Lord, and I am not calling you a liar…” she looked up, for but a moment, but averted her gaze quickly. “Your words before the ceremony were sweet, but I am certain you did not even look at me twice before you woke to find me in your room.” 

He sighed. “I said what I meant. I noted your generosity, your kindness, that you were a hard worker and good-natured. Unlike some.” he frowned faintly. “Though yes, I suppose there is something to what you say. Had you not been in my bed last night, the idea of marrying you would not have been something I would have considered. Does it make you feel better to hear that?" His pride, slightly prickled. Was she truly so unhappy that they were wed? "It was my belief that any woman would prefer to hear they were chosen on the merits of their beauty and charm rather than because they were good in bed.” 

“That is just it, My Lord.” She said more sharply than intended. “I am not.” 

Ah, she was just nervous. He slid forward and took her hand, petting his fingers over the back of it, finding them cool and slightly shaking.“Do not say that.” He said consolingly. “You will learn quickly I suspect. I was drunk, I doubt I was very good either." He lifted her fingers to his lips and set a kiss to the back of her knuckles, offering his most seductive look into her eyes. "Tonight I will ensure you will have no cause for disappointment.” 

“My Lord!” She tugged her hand back and frowned. “I am trying to tell you that I did not… that you did not…” She huffed and hung her head. “My Lord... I lied. Well, not lied so much as permitted you to believe an untruth which is just as bad, I see that now. I snuck into your room with this bottle of lamb’s blood and I put a bit on the sheet…” now that she’d begun, she could not stop the purging. “I had to. Margareta is in love with another man and he seduced her and she is with child and I was afraid you’d find out and then the alliance would crumble and it would destroy everything and …” 

“Silence!” he barked, cutting off her rambling. “You mislead me into believing I had ruined you so you could manipulate me?” All trace of his earlier geniality was fled in a wave of cold, tightly restrained fury pouring out from across the carriage.

“Yes.” She nodded. “Well, no. I mean, I _did_ mislead you, but it was not to done to do you harm. I had reason to believe you did not want to marry at all. I thought that if I were to present an option, a path for you to do what was best, not just for you, but for Margareta, and for father… I could allow you to…”

"Allow?" He frowned. I am the Lord of Ravenswood and you are not above me, my lady, to thus **_allow_** me to do anything. 

“My Lord, I misspoke. I ...I was just afraid of what you would do...” 

He slid across the space in the blink of an eye, his body pressing close, his knee at her hip, his hand moving over her cheek to catch in her braid and wind it around his hand, tipping back her head so she could not move her head away from the stormy sea of his gaze. “As well you should be.” He stared into her eyes with a look that indeed was terrifying. 

She stared up at his face, the hard line of his mouth still tempting her with the memory of kisses and she hated herself for the dull ache of want that his proximity woke in her belly. “Please.” A shiver racing down her back. “I tried to tell you before. You wouldn’t listen.” 

He seemed too angry to hear her. “Did you yourself not threaten to tell your father I took what was not freely given and see me branded a villain? Do you truly think me so despicable as to not do the honorable thing?” 

“No, My Lord, I would have told you the truth, I swear it. About everything. I had no intention of ever telling my father.” 

“Then why, my dear, did you take the sheet, if not for need of evidence to prove your claim.” 

“I… I was afraid if I left it behind that you’d be left without any choice but to be noble. That you’d tell him and then…” 

“Then you would have been forced to marry me.” His hand loosed the grip, his tone wounded. He dropped back into his seat, his jaw tight. “How terrible for you that you could not escape that fate.”

“My Lord…It wasn’t… I didn’t...” She stammered, unable to convey both that she had no plot, no devious plans to steal her sister's fiancé while also conceding despite her uncertainty, she was not as unhappy as he was making it sound.

He suddenly jolted forward and stuck his hand through the open window, hammering his palm hard against the wood. A moment later the carriage drew to a creeping pace. “I will not force you to remain in the company of one you so obviously find distasteful, My Lady” He stepped out and slammed the door in his wake, stalking away. A moment later the carriage lurched into motion and she was left alone within to continue thinking over how a single day's measure could contain so much upheaval.


	10. Chapter 10

His anger had not receded. Riding now near the front of the procession, his hand resting on his sword’s hilt, his eyes scanned the open fields as the sun crept ever downward. The brilliant azure skies had begun to darken at their back, before him a palate of variegated reds and oranges rising behind the far-too-distant shadow of the Silberquil Ridge, yet the beauty of sunset across the rolling plains went unnoticed. He wanted to pummel something until it was a sticky pudding to give an outlet to his fury at his new bride’s revelation. 

He had thought her the innocent victim of his libidinous nature. The manor’s mother hen come to assure her guest was resting well and he’d pounced on her like a snake on a mouse. Ruining a virtuous maid in her own home, no better than those Julousian soldiers who, during the war, had spent weeks in border villages raping and pillaging, taking all of value and leaving only pain in their wake. His darker parts hissed that she had made a fool of him, laughed at how easy it had been to manipulate him like a puppet on a string. And had he not danced to her tune? _You stupid, unworthy weakling._ That voice in his head like his father’s. _Lead about like a castrated bull with a ring in his nose by some backwater tart. All these years, and still you are as green as a peeled sapling._

He fumed that he had been so easily beguiled. She was only too happy to let him think she was ruined. Tricking him into doing the noble thing and marrying her. He wanted to hate her. Wanted to hold tight to the indignant pride that was easier to fall back upon than to risk introspection. As the miles passed, the cold ire shifted despite his wishes and he was forced to face the truth. She had never wanted to marry him. She had said no to his proposal more than once and he’d forced her to accept his hand. 

He groaned and set his fingers on his brow with deep circling rubs. How could he have been so foolish! She’d tried to tell him earlier in her father’s study. ‘If last night’s events are why you’re marrying me, there is no need’ and he’d cut her off. He didn’t want to hear her tell him 'no' again. He wanted her to say yes. He admitted to himself that since he had seen her walking with her father to greet them he had wanted her. To hear her praised, first by her father, then by Caspar, to see with his own eyes the happiness of his soldiers, treated like equals and to know that every single thing that he found good or interesting in that manor was tied to her? Not to mention how the light had played motes of bronze in the darkness of her hair, how her eyes had held no coquettishness, no attempt to flirt or bedazzle him, only honesty and warmth. How her hips had laid beneath the girdle of leather, the keys swaying as she moved, his mind had drifted unconsciously to how well those curves would rest beneath his palms, her blues darkened with passion only for him. 

He had gone to his bed with her in her thoughts, had woken to her in his arms. He was sure of it! He could feel her there still, her body beneath him, kissing him, holding him. Her calm and coldness had hurt him when he woke because he craved that warmth again. That was the lie that had wounded him deepest. The lie he told himself. That she’d ever wanted him at all. 

Darkness had eclipsed the land, and the bright glimmer of The Chandler’s Inn drew them onward. The lane lined with lanterns that illuminated the long curving path of crushed stone that lead to the two-story wood and brick building. The procession slowed and he dismounted, unsure of how to proceed. After a moment, he dismounted and opened the carriage door, holding out his hand to Renata. “Come.”

She set her fingers on his palm and stepped out, lifting her chin, a perfectly Zemnian facade of placid sobriety. It grated at him. He knew there was warmth in her. Fire even. He wanted to see it stoked until she was a conflagration. If he had accepted her confession with more grace, would this night end with him wound in her arms, making her his own as he so desperately wished? Knowing now that she was untried he would have been slow with her. The gown she wore was beautiful, yes, but it was gilding a lily, and removing it would have been his pleasure. He would cherish the unveiling of her body to his eyes, to his touch. Watching her wake to the realization that she was capable of myriad pleasures, introducing them to her until she could bear no more and begged for him to show her the fullest measure of her capacity for ecstasy. 

The large common room was lit by dozens of candles as the name would suggest. Their flickering glow over every polished wood surface made the place seem to radiate warmth and welcome. The air was fragrant with various smells. Food and woodsmoke and something slightly bright and acrid but not cloying or unpleasant. There were windows opened here and there to let in the soft breezes that drifted over the fields while tightly meshed panels kept the insects from entering in too great a number. Tables and chairs sat in a perfect spacing that was simultaneously cozy and allowed for conversations without one's neighbors being involved. The innkeeper, a plump gentleman with a well-trimmed beard was overjoyed when he learned who had arrived, obviously thrilled to have such a prestigious guest. “Our best room for you, My Lord Von Friedrich.” 

“Three more for my men. Whatever they desire to eat or drink, add it to my bill.” He kept a tight lid on his emotions which made his tone a bit clipped. “My wife is weary from our journey so she will adjourn to our room. I will dine with the men, my dear.” he glanced down at her, a stab of frustration at how unmoved she seemed. He grit his teeth and slid his attention back to the innkeeper. “See that she is brought a tray. She will need her strength.” the insinuation blatant and he was soothed to see her frown a bit and grow pink-cheeked. 

“Of.. of course, My Lord.” he motioned to a woman with close-braided red hair and tawny brown skin who slipped with the grace and practiced ease of a barmaid who’d worked there a very long time. “Becca, please show Lady Wilhelm to our best room.” The woman, Becca moved toward the stairs that lead up, and he caught his bride’s hand before she could follow. “I will follow soon.” He took great pleasure in watching her squirm inwardly as he lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a warm kiss to the back of her fingers that he knew would rankle her. He let her go and watched for several seconds as she walked away. “Port and whatever food you have that is hot.” He ordered without looking toward the innkeeper, moving to a table to sit and stew. 

He had been an ass. He knew it. The Von Friedrichs were men of action. Dominant warriors with the will to conquer and lay claim to anything they saw as worth the taking. He was enough of his father’s son to be tainted by that nature. He had seen her as something he could conquer. Own. Possess. This hot-blooded impulse was tempered by his mother’s more thoughtful nature, however, and he knew as well that Renata was not simply battle spoils to fill his coffers. She was a woman of flesh and blood and strength. A proud woman who did not balk from difficulty whether it was work or making a sacrifice of her own reputation to spare a woman who, as far as he considered it, was unworthy of such a gesture. Now, she despised him. Still, they were husband and wife. He could not send her back, not without doing irrevocable damage. No. Though it was true it would hurt her reputation in the social circles of Truscan society, that was not why he could not send her back. He simply did not want to let her go. 

Rising from the table, he dared not look toward his men as he went up, unsure what he would find when he got there. As he mounted the stairs, he recalled a girl in his favored bordello who he took a shining too in his youth. She had been a devil when angered. She’d go cold and demure until the moment she was out of the public eye and then she would unleash hell. Anything in reach deemed light enough to fly straight and true was thrown, glass shattering against the wall while she swore like an alehouse rat, all claw and venom. He couldn't allow that kind of behavior in his wife of course. Unwelcome thoughts, flashes of disarming her and wrestling her clawing hands down, pressing close, holding her tight to keep her arms down, her face all heated and her eyes bright with passionate fury, rushing breaths from lips only a scant inch from his own. "Stop." He said aloud to himself to stem the way his imagination was leading him. He paused at the door at the hallway's end, the traditional wreath of flowers hung upon it no doubt marking it to be the room he sought. He listened, hearing no sound of tears, no shattering of knick-knacks. He opened the door and stepped inside. Cautiously, he opened it a fraction. “Hold, My Lady, I wish only to speak a moment” still half sure he’d have to duck some projectile the moment his head appeared around the edge of the door. 

The lamps were still lit, though turned down, casting the room in soft shadows at the edges. There were no signs of temper. The bed was empty and though there was a tray of food, it was untouched. For a moment he feared she had somehow run away when he noticed a shape in the chair beside the window. She had removed her heavy overdress, the more snug fit of the ivory gown beneath reminding him of how well made she was. Her dark hair had been stripped of the golden cuffs which lay neatly on the folded gold and fur bundle that was her surcote. Her feet were bare beneath the hem of her dress. Her head was tipped slightly back, and he could see with a pang of shame the bruises above her collar. Her breathing slow and soft, he watched unabashedly as her breasts rose and fell in her sleep. Though he had come only to talk, he felt the dull thickening of desire overtake his blood. Matron's mercy she was lovely. 

He could wake her, but he was not looking forward to having to apologize, nor did he want to deny her rest. Still, he couldn’t just leave her there, sleeping in her clothes like a peasant. The thought of undressing her as she slept was simultaneously erotic and disgusting. He wanted very much to see her beauty unveiled, knowing she was his and his alone, but only when she was a willing participant in every bared inch. In the end, he chose to call down for the serving girl, Becca to come and ready his lady for bed while he waited outside. Once she had fallen back to sleep, he mused, it would be so very easy to remove his own clothes and join her. Wake up on his first morning as a married man beside his wife where he ought to be. 

No, it was too much temptation and he was not strong enough to ensure that he might not take advantage of her unknowingly. He had slept in less comfortable chairs than the one he’d abandoned downstairs and he doubted another night slumbering with his head higher than his arse would kill him. Passing Becca in the hall, he returned to his chair, turning it toward the low fire in the grate before he sank down, legs outstretched. Tomorrow they would be riding back to Ravenswood. There would be no chance to claim his bride on the road so he would have two days and nights more to make amends for being so stubborn and ill-tempered and hope that when next there was a bed, they could share it. 


	11. Chapter 11

She had woken to find herself in bed, stripped down to her chemise and quite alone. True wakefulness reminded her that she had spent her wedding night asleep. She felt no different. Springing from the bed, she saw no evidence that she was unchaste. It was at that moment she remembered that there was little expectation that her husband wanted anything to do with her. If so, who had undressed her? She blushed as she imagined his hands moving over her naked skin, a low dull tension under her navel at the images that drifted through her consciousness. 

Though she tried not to dwell upon his reaction to her confession in the carriage, she couldn’t help herself. It had been heartbreaking, but she would be lying to deny that a part of her felt a small flutter of something primal when he loomed over her as he had in her father’s study. When he had given her the choice to either marry him or have the alliance ruined. ‘‘I take what I want’, he’d said. Then, as now, she both craved and feared to be the subject of that desire. 

She was not a child. She had now and then, overheard the servant girls gossiping about this lad or that. Of doing things with their lovers that had shocked her to imagine. Now, she found herself curious as to whether they were as pleasant as the girls had insinuated. To return his kisses, to instigate kisses of her own. His lips, his cheek, his jaw, whispering in his ear how she desired him. No, that would only reassure him he’d married badly. Unwittingly her memory recalled his naked body under the moonlight, his warmth and strength as he lay draped half over her, his breath seeping through her dressing gown and leaving her skin tingling. 

She rubbed her forehead in the palms of her hands as if she could scrub away the idea from her brain. Such things were not at all civil. Perhaps if she dressed she might feel less exposed and raw. The chest of her things was likely still on the wagon, and she had only her wedding dress, but the gown was pulled on, hands tugging and smoothing it into the semblance of propriety. Outwardly, she was sure she looked at least mannerly, but it had done little to banish the thoughts that still drifted through the back of her mind, smooth and dangerous as a razor. 

A knock and she squeaked in surprise, hands flying to cover her mouth, shooting a guilty look toward it like a child caught sneaking a cake from the kitchen. “A moment...” She forced the husk from her voice as she opened the door a crack and peeked out to spy her husband in the hall. She opened the door and bowed her head. “Good Morning, My Lord von Freidrich.”

A look came over his face, a flitting of emotion that she couldn’t quite read and then he gave a slow bow of his head. “Good morning, My Lady.” Gods how his voice had the power to steal the strength from her knees. “Will you join me for breakfast?”

“Of course, My Lord. If you would be so kind as to send my chest up, I will be down presently. 

He looked her over from head to foot, down, then back up again.“Just come as you are. Breakfast is growing cold.” There was no harshness in his voice, merely a slight impatience. 

“But, My Lord, I can’t go downstairs like this!” Gasping in shock. 

“Whyever not?” 

“I do not want to embarrass you.” She noted his look of confusion. “My hair... I have no brush, no wimple. My dress is all creased and inappropriate to the occasion...” 

“You have not eaten enough to satisfy a mouse.” he motioned to the untouched tray from the night before. “You will come down, and you will sit with me, and eat.” His tone dared her to argue. Stepping forward, he set his fingertips under her chin very gently and tipped it up so he could look at her face. “We have much to talk about.” He was firm, but the fury in him was evaporated it seemed. “For now, however,” he moved his fingers up to brush a loose strand from her temple. “Come eat.” 

He offered his hand and she laid her fingertips atop his palm. Perhaps her fears were unfounded. She had not left her father’s lands since she was a very small child. Perhaps in this portion of the Truscan Empire, there was less strict adherence to the rules of attire. The fear that the downstairs would be full of judgemental stares was all for naught. The common room was empty of anyone not employed either by the inn or Lord Von Friedrich. 

The hinted conversation never manifested. Between the quiet that came with full mouths and the constancy of having to handle orders and preparations and payment for the rooms and so forth, she shared no more than ten words with her husband through the whole meal. When the plates were cleared away, and he rose to go with his valet, she had to speak. 

“My Lord… my things? This dress is not suited to a long journey, and I must tend my hair…” 

“Oh, of course. Denis!” He barked to a soldier near the door. “Fetch Gilbert and bring up Lady Wilhelm’s chest of clothing and sundries so can freshen up.” He glanced her way. “Do not take too long, My Lady. The journey is long and I wished to be well on the road by now.” A nod and he was gone. 

He was pacing a rut in the ground when she emerged from the inn at last. He stared at her, his mouth a tight line, his whole posture stiffened. The line turned to a frown. “You took far too long. We will be late because of your vanity. Get into the carriage!” Obviously, he had never thought to account for the time it took a woman to dress properly, especially without a maid to help her. With a bowed head, she stepped up into the small enclosed conveyance and folded her hands in her lap, wondering if a day would pass that she would not vex her husband. 

Pulling at the ropes that secured the trunks to the wagon so tightly they creaked, Wilhelm clenched his teeth in frustration. He had, when he had fallen to sleep in that chair, had plans to wake at dawn so he could return to her room and speak with her about things before they had to return to the road. Perhaps, he had smiled to consider it, they might be able to consummate the marriage and be truly man and wife when they entered the gates of Ravenswood. Instead, he’d overslept had been at a full run since. He’d been annoyed by her ridiculous care about her clothes and hair. She looked lovely to him, and damn anyone who would say otherwise. As the minutes passed, he grew more restless. The sun was climbing and the day promised to be exceptionally warm. A storm was building on the horizon and that would mean a steamy, heavy-aired heat before it that would make the journey grow less pleasant with each hour of sun beating down on them. Then, she’d appeared. 

He felt as if someone had hit him in the gut. Her dress was soft green and deeper emerald twill, light and it followed her perfect figure, accenting her waist and the curve of her hips as well as her perfect breasts. Her hair was lost beneath the draping of white linen across her neck and shoulders, drawn up, veiled, secreted as her body was. Her face and hands all that was bared to the eye. It ought to have looked prim, chaste and proper but it only made him recall her sleek hair falling in tempestuous waves of darkness across her shoulders and bosom, the body by the fabric accentuated and yet denied him. He had the urge to pounce on her and ravage her there on the steps of the inn and it shamed him. That had caused him to be curt and bark at her. He’d seen her smile fade, her head bow, and his frustration was compounded by realizing he had caused her pain yet again. She was secure in the carriage, and he considered another day riding with the men. He feared the mood in the carriage. He was not in the mood for petulant tears of recrimination or sharp-tongued sniping at him because he’d lifted his voice a bit. 

No, he’d promised they would talk, so he made his way to the carriage. “We go!” he stepped into the carriage and dropped down opposite of her, bracing himself inwardly. They were moving within a minute and neither tears or terseness were unleashed. She was just sitting quietly, her eyes focused on the view out the small window in the door. He felt an urge to say he was sorry, to beg her forgiveness, to throw himself at her feet and plead that she turn the smile he’d seen on her lips when she’d exited the inn, but that was sentimental claptrap. She would think she’d married a boy, not a man. He would find a way to make things right in his own way. When the Inn was out of sight, he sighed. “We must speak.” He did not know which subject to address first, and thus silence stretched on far too long after the statement was made. 

“Indeed, My Lord. On much.” She nodded. “I wish to say I am sorry that I made us tardy. I will be more prompt in the future, you have my word.” 

“Yes.” He nodded. “When you are in your own room, with your things at hand, I have no doubt you’ll be quick.” he swallowed back the desire to offer his own apology for being such an unmitigated jackass for snapping at her. 

“I suppose I should thank you, My Lord.” Her voice slightly brittle. “For putting me away last night and for being kind enough this morning not to flout my inability to be a proper wife.” 

“What?” He was mildly confused for a moment. She looked ready to weep. He cocked his head and blinked. Was she thanking him for putting her to bed and not raping her unconscious body? “I could hardly enjoy my wedding night with a woman who was dead to the world.” He scoffed softly as the threatened tears fell, silently, her lips twisted into a tight little trembling pucker as if fighting to keep them from coming. “Do cease that!” He felt a stab of something awful in his chest to see her crying. “I assure you, woman, that when I have my due, you’ll be in a position to remember every moment.”

She looked up sharply, her eyes wide and liquid, and he noted again how blue they were. “I know you are displeased, My Lord, that you were so ill-used. That you were denied the swan and are stuck with the pigeon.” She drew a deep breath and lifted her chin. “If you, as you say, have your due, it will be your own fault that you are stuck with me. If you proceed as you are, moving Eastward and … plotting my ravishment, then,” she drew a shaky breath but squared her shoulders. “Then, I will not tolerate having the blame for your marital state thrown into my face the rest of our lives. If you wish to be a bachelor, turn around and take me back, if you do not, then … on your head be it.”

He lifted his brows, every muscle working to keep him from showing that he was quite proud of her for displaying the spine he had been told she possessed. Far better than tears. He kept his features calm and unreadable as he could. The silence drifted on for several minutes, eyes locked. He would let the fact that he spoke no order to turn around stand as his agreement to her terms. 

“What are you thinking?” She broke the silence after a quarter-mile had passed without his looking away. 

“As you said, I am plotting your ravishment.” he was pleased to see her blush and look away, her face betraying her shock and annoyance and, perhaps, something warmer beneath. “Do you prefer me to unveil my carnal machinations aloud or would you prefer to be surprised?”

“My Lord!” she gaped, then her eyes narrowed and she cocked her head a bit. “You are mocking me.”

“I am attempting, perhaps, to tease you a bit, my wife, but nothing so cruel as that. I meant what I said yesterday. You may say I got a pigeon instead of a swan, and I cannot disagree. For a swan is a lovely, but ill-tempered creature with a voice that rankles everyone who hears it, where a pigeon’s coo is soothing and soft. Speak to me, Renata.” He leaned back, folding his arms loosely across his chest. “I would know my wife.” 

“What… what do you want to know, My Lord?” Her tone wary. 

“Simple things. Here,” he delved into a pocket of his doublet and removed four copper coins. “Take them.” He put two into her palm, holding up the other two. “I will ask you a question. You have two choices. Answer truthfully, or don’t. If you do, I will answer the same question in return, and then you may ask me a question of your own. If one chooses to avoid the question, they can pay one copper to free themselves from baring their soul. Of course, they do not then get to ask their own question. First of us to hold all four copper is the winner. Is this agreeable to you?"

He could see her mind turning, seeking some trap being laid that she could not quite detect. Still, after a minute, she nodded. “I agree to your terms, My Lord.” 

“Good. We will begin simply. What is your favorite food?”

"I like tomatoes." She smiled. "When they are in season, a bit of salt perhaps. You?"

"Whatever that meat with the crust and the diced things you served at the banquet the night before last. It is my new favorite."

She blushed and averted her eyes a bit. "It is called vien d'heir. I know the recipe, and will teach it to your cook if you truly liked it."

"I don't imagine I could afford such a thing very often, but that would be ..." he paused as she had burst into snickering behind her hand. "What is so funny?"

She looked a little worried as she glanced up. "The dish... the name means _last night's meat_. It is a way of using up bits of whatever remains when yesterday's meal is ended." She held herself as if fearful he was going to be angry at her for serving such a thing to him.

"That is very frugal. I am not particularly parsimonious but I appreciate those who do not spend when it is unneeded to get a good result." He sat back, relaxing a bit visually, though he was still feeling tense inside. "It is your turn to ask."

"Indeed My Lord. Do you always snore or is that a symptom of overindulgence in drink?"

He blinked and it was his turn to look a bit sheepish. "I... I don't know. I'm asleep either way. I have never had anyone complain that I snore though."

"Nor have I." She nodded once. "And I do not drink to excess as a rule. I do not get as some do. It gives me no pleasure or ease, it only makes me feel puffy and ill."

"Have you any vices at all then?" He asked it before thinking of the rules. If she chose to answer, he would either have to list his own, or he would have to surrender one of his coppers. She looked at him for a long few minutes, her blue eyes catching the afternoon sunshine and seeming almost steel gray.

"I choose not to answer." She lowered her lashes and her chin with a shrug, removing one of the coins and holding it out to him as she smiled faintly. “We are still close enough to Yrrosa that you might rethink your decision to keep me.” Teasing him in a way that somehow touched his heart. He took the coin and turned it over in his fingertips idly. 

“I can then only assume you are rife with vices.” He could not help that though he was not even a bit serious in that belief, that images of certain flavors of iniquity rose to the fore of his thoughts. He had joked that he was plotting the end of her virginity, but now, having her as his wife in all ways was the sole occupation of his mind. It would not do to remain too long in the privacy of the carriage even if the logistics boggled the mind. She deserved something more. A bed at least. “Your penance is to remain here, alone, and think about your sins.” sliding toward the door with a smirk. 

“My Lord… I did not mean to…”

“Guard that last copper, My Lady. I will return for it soon enough.” He leapt out and the door swung shut behind him as he moved to reclaim his mount and catch up to Caspar. He was far less pleasant, but far safer company.


	12. Chapter 12

Wilhelm had thought the road too long before, now it seemed to be stretching itself to make every mile feel like ten. His mind drifted constantly to the woman who he had left to consider her sins. A quiet chuckle under his breath, admitting to himself who the on beset by sins was at the moment. Even with the wood and leather between them, he could feel his wife’s presence. He was not a youth to be sent giddy-bellied at the thought of a woman but damned if he didn’t feel it right now. 

All his mind could conjure were recollections of her lips as she spoke, her eyes, the blush of her cheek. The very picture of a proper lady. He thought of her dress, so chaste and simple and yet it was the humble setting that made the gem of her beauty shine so brightly to him. He sobered as the admiration in his mind began to edge toward a more leering appreciation. He wanted her, that was certain, but once he’d consummated, he would have to begin making something of life with this woman, still a veritable stranger to him. Again, he felt a small twinge of unease over a decision made too hastily. 

A gesture drew his thoughts to the present. 

It was still a day’s ride before the foot of the mountains marking home would be visible. The horizon held only a shadowed dark, token of what no doubt was a storm building up against the Silberquel to welcome them back. Viktor, who rode at the front of the procession, pulled his horse to stop, his arm flew up, a flash of crimson at his wrist to make him more visible. Without question, the rest of the party shifted into defensive positions, crossbows at the ready or swords drawn. The wagons slowed and Wilhelm slid from his mount, moving to the carriage even as the door began to open. He put a hand on it to stop the motion. “Remain inside.” The door closed easily and he shifted to an attentive study of the roadside around them. 

Moments stretched out to seconds, then a minute. Another. Silence reigned. The faint creak of the vehicles shifting, the hot sigh of a rare breeze through the leaves on the few scant dry bushes dotting the rocky hillsides, the nicker of a horse, but nothing more. Then, as one they heard a sharp, tiny snap. Like the twig, stealth was broken instantly and a small pack of rangy goblins poured out from the scrub. Green skin taut across large skulls with pointed ears and mouths that bared razor-sharp teeth as a few lifted bows and fired. The arrows were answered, heavy bolts flying with hissing accuracy, strangled cries as the goblin band was reduced by a third. 

The remaining pack seemed to have divided purposes. Ten of them were attacking, blade or bow in hand while two smaller stragglers seemed to be working more stealthily, creeping from spot to spot. Wilhelm could easily tell their goal was to get to the wagon and steal whatever they could while the soldiers were diverted by the others. He hissed toward Gilbert, motioning to the pair and the scarred man lifted his crossbow and sent a bolt through the skull of one of the sneak-thieves as he peered up over the edge of the wagon. He flew back with a sharp yip of shock that died even before he struck the ground. 

Wilhelm headed toward the wagon to dispatch the other, and assure there were none seeking to attack from behind when a loud bellow from ahead pulled his attention. A lumbering figure stood like a monolith of flesh in the middle of the road, breathing heavily through cracked and rotted teeth. The sun glinted on the sweaty rolls of its blubberous frame, the heavy and hastily cobbled club in its meaty grip leaving a slight rut in the dirt as it stalked toward them, eyes squinted against the bright sunlight. 

An arrow arced through the mist and struck the hill giant in the chest, just near his breastbone. It was nowhere near a mortal blow but it was more than enough to set the creature to a violent roaring rage. Its club lifted as it surged angrily toward the goblin who had fired the arrow. With this newly arrived combatant, the goblins were suddenly more akin to allies, if cowardly ones. They hooted and yelped in their language to one another as they scrambled away as they’d come, firing only when they had no other choice. 

Wilhelm turned from the wagon, knowing the wagon only held things. His men were far more valuable. Knowing that the further the confrontation was from the caravan when the fight began, the safer everyone would be, he joined them as they ran toward the giant, shouting as they surrounded him, keeping out of his club’s reach and confusing him. Bolts and blades flashed, hacking at the legs and wounding deep. A roar as Gilbert’s blade stuck into its thigh, swinging out with that rough-hewn chunk of wood, sending the guard flying backward, bouncing across the road and into the ditch. Wilhelm wanted to be sure he was alright, but there was no time. There was nothing to be done but fight on. The giant wavered as the onslaught redoubled. Wounds from all directions, hacking at his legs, his back, his arms. A good swipe across the back of his knees robbed them of the ability to hold him up. Fallen to the road, his club was lost, his head following less than a minute later. 

The men assuring the monster was dead, Wilhelm turned to seek out Gilbert. He saw the man sitting up at the edge of the road, injured obviously, but living. He felt a slight wave of relief that was crushed instantly when he saw Renata. Her dress was gathered against her hips, her legs bare as she stumbled and limped away from the caravan. A goblin, the same one he himself had been targeting before the giant’s arrival, was stalking toward her, blade in hand. Wilhelm could not move. He watched impotently as she tripped, tumbling back into a heap and the goblin pounced. 

Fear stronger than he had ever felt drove him to break the paralysis and he ran. He could see the goblin on top of her, his torso subtly heaving, rising and falling. The unbidden thought that it was raping her drove all sanity from his mind. He was mad with the need to hack it into a pudding. Just as he was in reach, the goblin flopped off to the side, falling sprawled on his back, a crossbow bolt’s fletching like a tuft of beard beneath his chin. Renata, breathless, sat up, her hands sticky with blood. 

“I … I saw him… trying to steal..the donkeys. I …” She swallowed and licked at her lips. “I grabbed the bolt from your soldier and … I knew he’d chase me. He didn’t expect ...” 

He gathered quickly what had happened. She’d made bait of herself to lure the creature to follow her. Feigning weakness, seeming easy prey. When it had gotten close enough, she’d driven the bolt into its brain. It had fallen on her, and what he’d thought was rutting was merely her attempts to lift the dead weight of the goblin off of her. Part of him was rather impressed, but that part was small and meek compared to the raging bellow of fury that was making his ears ring. He could not keep away the memory of his sister’s wedding, Brigitta’s pale face lost in a tide of blood because he wasn’t able to protect her. 

He could not form words. He reached down and snatched Renatta up by her forearm, a tug so strong that it lifted her from her feet, her belly hitting hard against his shoulder. Stalking back to the carriage, the door sitting open, he threw her inside on her rump like a sack of grain. “Do. Not. Move.” Each word punctuated with a jab of his finger a mere inch from her face. He slammed the door and wedged his dagger in the latch so it could not be opened from within. 

The next two hours passed in near silence. Gibert’s arm was likely broken and he would wear another scar or two, but he would live. A few of the men had sustained arrows to the thigh or shoulder, but the tips were not barbed and there was no hint of poison. This pack was obviously more distraction than danger. The longest portion of time was devoted to tying ropes to the giant’s corpse and dragging it out of the center of the road so they could pass. By the time they were all mounted up again, the heat was stifling and everyone was more than anxious to get well out of this area before nightfall. 

The sun began a slow descent at their backs, the shadows slowly stretching before them as they rode. The pleasant days of the journey to Yrrosa had become a humid stillness. A heavy woolen blanket feeling of being smothered, his back burning under the relentless sunshine. Sweat ran down his neck and face, his hair and shirt soon drenched. Ahead, the storm was now audible, faint rumbles of thunder rolling across the Zemni Feilds as if to greet them. Only its arrival would end this oppressive heat. He dug his heels in, wanting to pick up the pace, hoping to get at least a few more leagues behind them before it struck. 

Seething, he replayed the scene over and over in his mind. She had intentionally disobeyed him by leaving the carriage. She had put herself at risk. A small part of him had to admit it wasn’t a bad plan if one had only a bolt and no crossbow to fire it but it could have gone so very wrong. What if the goblin had struck her with that blade? What if it had friends waiting just out of sight? What if the bolt had hit bone and shattered before it could do mortal damage? A myriad of deadly, horrid possibilities that could have left her wounded, poisoned, or dead outright. He had never been so angry as he was at this moment. He barely noticed Caspar as he moved to ride beside him. 

They traveled in silence for several minutes before his friend spoke. “Take a breath. She was not hurt. Foolish, yes, but all is well.” His tone firm but consoling. “Do not do anything you will regret. She has reasons more than you know to think that if something is to be done, it is best to do it herself. She made a mistake, yes, but everything is fine now.“ 

“It is not fine.” he grit out through his teeth. “I am … “ He exhaled and drew a slow breath in, forcing himself to be rational. “I know she is a very able, capable woman. She was in charge of her father’s holdings and home and yes, she did well, but!” he held up a finger. “She will learn today that when her Lord commands her to do something, she must obey him.” He opened and closed his fists as he considered his next course. He knew it had been fear more than fury that had motivated him, and yet he had reacted just like his father. Threats and demands for obedience without question.

“Do you know that just this morning she apologized to me.” he frowned at the memory. “She hinted that she was somehow deficient because she fell asleep last night before we ...” Wilhelm made a face and shook his head. “I am not known to be a gentleman, but even I would never take a woman without her full and wakeful involvement. What sort of monster does she take me for?”

Caspar shook his head, his brow furrowed as he pondered. Deciding, he drew in a breath. “She has only two real men to judge all others by. It would be frankly impossible to imagine her father with lust so great that he could not withstand waiting for a single night because his wife was exhausted. Her grandfather, on the other hand, was exactly that sort of man. I have only the rumors of servants, well, one servant…,” he recalled Amelia’s chatter when her mouth was not otherwise occupied. “But who better knows a house than those who tend it? The first Lord Rosenfeld, the grandfather, had a string of mistresses he made no attempt to hide. He was a devotee of The Moonweaver.” A slight sour look taking possession of his features. “Which explains much.” 

Wilhelm nodded faintly. They had spent enough time in low company to know of The Moonweaver, protector of trysts in dark places whose acolytes were of the most debauched sort. Eschewing any ties of respectability, living only for new thrills and experiences, hiding in the dark of the shadows like cockroaches who feared the light. 

“He browbeat his son into rushing into the production of heir almost the moment that Margareta was born. The lady and the babe both paid the price. This did not cease the old man’s machinations. He railed and demanded and threatened until Rosenfeld married again, to Renatta’s mother. They were good together, by all accounts. It was never love, but they were friendly and companionable. Lord Rosenfeld adopted Renata as his own child but they never had another, and this vexed the elder Lord Rosenfeld. It seemed that he was of the mind that if his son would not make an heir with the new Lady Rosenfeld, that he would do it for him.

They say she did her best to avoid him, but one spring day the Lady was out riding and fell from her horse, breaking her neck. Some say that she was running from him and that caused the accident, or hint that the old man murdered her in a fit of temper for her constant rejections. Afterward, he went mad, they hint, and died walking the walks of the keep, begging his Moonweaver for her blessing or some such rot. He fell from the wall and died himself not a month later. Renatta was twelve and it is said that, despite all else I have said, he was good to her, and she loved him.” 

Wilhelm felt his stomach lurch in disgust. He could not imagine the sort of man that Caspar was speaking of could hold a dear place in so kind a heart as Renata’s. “Still, how could she that is what all men are like?” 

“Perhaps not all men. Only dominant ones who must always have their own way." A courteous nod and he looked about. "I will leave you to keep watch, My Lord.” He pulled on the reins and slowed his mount with a bow of his head, moving to ride further back near the carriage.

Huffing, Wilhelm felt the tension returning in every muscle. Caspar had a way of leaving conversations like a mosquito. Drawing blood and then leaving an itch to plague you.  
The sun’s stifling stagnation was unabated for another hour, and he’d just begun to think that it might be less tortuous to face the inevitable argument awaiting him in the carriage when a voice from behind halted him. 

“Hold! Stop!” Caspar was sliding down from his horse even as the carriage was coming to a halt. The dagger thrown aside, the door was wrenched open. A moment later he drug the body of the Lady of Ravenswood out, her head lolling like a rag doll, still as death.


	13. Chapter 13

She roused to find herself staring up at a dark shadow, a feeling of movement without the visual. She reached up to her spinning head, finding her wimple gone, her hair wet. “Drink.” She looked to her left and realized that she was lying in the back of the wagon, and Lord Von Friedrich was offering out a wineskin. “Do not worry, it’s water” He lifted his brows, waiting for her to take it. With shaking hands she tipped it to her mouth, drinking deeply. “Not too much, you’ll hurt yourself.” The wineskin pulled away and stoppered. He looked very upset. “You..” he exhaled softly. “I am not one for striking women, but you have tempted me more than any female I have ever known to take you over my knee.” He shook his head in frustration. “Do you hate me so? Am I so detestable that you would choose death rather than deign to speak to me and tell me you were uncomfortable?” He was upset, she could see it, but also rather hurt. 

“It was not intentional. I just got a touch over-warm. I made you late this morning, then the… goblin. I didn’t want to compound my offenses any further.” She looked back up, able to recognize the canvas tarpaulin that had been made into a shade above the wagon. “I did not mean to burden you, My Lord.” She felt foolish and embarrassed. She’d been nothing but trouble to him since the moment they had met it seemed. 

He huffed and leaned down, his palm braced on the floor of the wagon, the other, blocked by his body from the view of anyone behind them moved over her cheek, turning her face towards his. His voice was low, and his voice slightly rough at the edges, as if he were catching cold perhaps. “Woman, if you ever frighten me like that again, I will put a leash on you, and you will be allowed no freedom at all.” He held her eyes, and she could see he was serious. “Do not tempt me.” 

His thumb ran across the line of her cheekbone. “You are my wife. Whether you want me or do not, I am your husband. You promised to obey me. So, I am issuing some commands. Firstly, you will prove I was not wrong to think you a woman capable of taking care of herself. If you thirst, grow chilled or warm, need to avail yourself of privacy for nature’s call, or any other such thing you will let someone know. I am, indeed, Lord of Ravenswood, but you are her Lady, not some chatelaine with all the keys and none of the power. Command these men and only I can overspeak you.” 

“You were so very angry, My Lord. I …” She blushed a bit and he handed the open skin back to her. 

“Small sips.” He picked up the waterskin and held it back out to her. 

“My next command, is for you to be honest with me. I think it is clear that untruths are dangerous. One cannot build a life upon a bed of lies. What is in the past is best left there, but I won’t tolerate you being anything but the very soul of verity from no on, yes?”

It seemed a rather small thing to agree to. “Of course, My Lord. I will not lie to you …” she paused, and looked up. “Unless it is a small and harmless lie such as one might tell to keep a pleasant secret.”

“There is no such thing as a pleasant secret.” he glowered. 

“What if I wish to surprise you with a gift and … you ask a question that would ruin the surprise. I might then be allowed to be untruthful over what, for example, is on the paper I am reading when it is a note from the maker of the gift, telling me it is coming along well, and will be ready on time?” He looked at her strangely, and she was suddenly possessed of the thought that no one had ever surprised him with a gift in his life. “Or… if I am feeling unwell some distant morning and suspect I am… “ Another warm rush of pink heated her face and she took a swallow of water to soothe the flame and wash past the lump in her throat. “I might say I am well or that I ate something that disagreed with me, so I may not get your hopes up until I am sure that it is so.” 

He was silent for several seconds. His eyes burned into her with a touch that was almost physical. “Do you feel up to a more hasty pace? There is a storm brewing and while we cannot avoid it, I want to be out of the plains when it hits, for the higher ground is more stable and less muddy.”

“Yes, My Lord. I am well enough.” She pushed herself to sit and offered what she hoped was a polite and firm smile. She did not want to add to her list of offenses.

“Excellent.” He hopped down and untied his horse from the side of the wagon where it had been keeping pace. A moment’s pause and he had mounted into the saddle, looking out across the caravan. “Ride with haste for Ravenswood, men!” he called out. “We must reach the hills before the storm reaches us!” The wagon lurched a bit and they were off. He kept near, the horse at a canter as the wagon bounced and swayed. 

She sat cradling the water skin, taking obliging small sips every now and then as she’d been commanded. The tarp overhead gave her less shade than she’d had in the dark carriage, but though the breezes were few and far between, at least now they could reach her. She glanced toward him, thinking, as she had before the goblins attacked, on what he had said before he left the carriage. 

_I am plotting your ravishment…_

He had been jesting. Seeking to get a rise from her and there had been no seriousness in his words. Yet, she had been alone in the shadowed confines of the conveyance and she could not help where her mind wandered. 

_Shall I try again to be more impressive?_

She saw him as he had been in her father’s study. His hand against her throat so gently, lifting her chin as he drew her to him, rendering unchaste kisses that made her heart shoot up into her throat and then drop into her toes. She had heard how her sister was injured, her father’s unhappiness as he pursued, but she didn’t pull away. Selfishly she had remained because his nearness had excited her, made her feel warm and tingly. Alone, caught between him and the closed door, he had offered to prove his prowess as a lover right there. What if he had chosen to? Her skin prickled as she instantly was overwhelmed by the return of the feverish fantasies her mind had woven as the heat in the carriage had grown so stifling. 

A decent woman would find gentility and the hope of a husband’s affability and constancy to be the things that inspired them, but no. She was somehow twisted from the proper mindset and her thoughts found pleasures in depravity. It was not his kindnesses or his good manners that made her burn, but the recollection of his body over hers in his bed. His insinuations that he wanted her. The underlying threat of taking what he desired. She should have been appalled at the deviance of her fantasies but over and over her thoughts were of base and unladylike cravings for his mouth upon her own, his hands laying her bare, his fingers in her hair dragging her head back, of lustful entanglements of limbs and the breathless cries of desperation that were at once both pain and pleasure. Sounds she had overheard often but never uttered. Shame and lustful aching both fed the groan as she hung her head, cursing herself for being so weak-willed. 

She had not intended for it to be loud enough to catch his ear, but it must have been as he pulled on the reins and fell back, looking down at her. “Are you well, My Lady? Is the ride too boisterous?” 

She could not look higher than his chest as she shook her head. “No…” her throat feeling stiff and rasped as if she had not spoken aloud in days. “I am quite well, My Lord von Friedrich. I am sorry if I am so burdensome.” 

“As you said yourself, if we proceed to the East, I am the only one to blame, My Lady.” A louder crack of thunder rolled across the landscape, drawing every eye to the sky not so distant. The dark clouds seemed to be rushing at them faster now, as if pursuing the sun and driving it toward the horizon. With that shadow came no coolness. Only tension. Lightning played among the dark billows, illuminating them, or shooting forth in great white-hot forks toward the ground. She could see the rain rushing to meet them, a curtain of wrought iron and silver. 

“Halt!” The cry echoed and was passed man to man as the caravan slowed and then came to rest. “Short rest. Make ready for rain.” Lord Von Friedrich rode alongside the men and they began making quick preparations for the rain. The men slid cloaks that looked to be made of thin waxed cloth over their armor and dug into pouches for bread or apples, bits of jerky or other portable food that would stand as their meal. 

“My Lady, if you please?” He motioned for her to take his hand once he slipped from the saddle. “With the rain will come cooler air. I think the carriage will be far less dangerous now.” 

She set her fingers in his palm and tried not to be so aware of the strength of his hand as he took hers, moving it to rest against the bend of his arm. The tarp that had sheltered her from the sun was more securely fastened down around the items beneath once she had vacated her spot. She felt a bit guilty that she would be inside and these men would be out in the rain, but as the first pelting drops began to fall, she squeaked and ascended into the carriage. The door closed behind her and she was once again alone. Pulling down the linen-covered wood lattice over the windows to keep the rain out, she gave a quiet sigh of emotions so mingled she could not discern number or name them all. Wistfulness, relief, uncertainty, desire… they and countless cousins all melting together to a feeling of shaky precariousness. 

The cadence of the raindrops fell harder, faster. The stifling heat at last broken by a chill, wet breeze. She smiled to herself, basking in the cool touch of the wind that whistled through the carriage. Reaching up, the fastenings of her high collar were undone a bit, baring the hollow of her throat. Idly, she ran her fingers up to lift her braid away from her nape, a shiver at the rush of what felt like ice compared to the sultry stillness of air that had plagued her all day. The wind rose with a slight whistle against the carriage, slightly eerie sounding and she shuddered, hands running up and down her arms to banish the rising goosebumps. 

With a rush of rain the door flew open and the dampened figure of her husband threw himself within, slamming the door behind him as he fell back into the seat, laughing softly. There was a slight jolt as they began moving again. He blinked, breathing slightly quickly, droplets clinging to his lashes and running down his jaw and neck. “We will have to progress slowly, but we made it past the worst of the more rural portion. The roads will be less muddy, but the stone makes them slick. Still...” he ran his tongue across his lips, catching some of the drops that clung there. “We should be home by this time tomorrow.” 

He pushed his hands through strands darkened to deepest honey brown by the rain. The usual swoop of fair hair slicked back, she could now see a line, thin and pink, that ran from his left eyebrow upward toward his temple. It was hardly a disfigurement to her eyes, but it might have been a reminder of something he didn’t wish to have to answer questions over so she quickly dropped her eyes to her lap. “That is good. I am anxious to see it for myself. You described it as being somber and there is a mountain at its back?”

“Yes, though the Silberquel is not so grand as the Cyrios, they are rich in their own way. The village is situated between Druvenlode and Rexxentrum, though off the Amber Road so one must come to Ravenswood with intention.”

“I see.” She nodded. “I … I do not mean to be overly curious, My Lord, but will we be alone there?”

“Do you fear being alone with me?” A burr in his tone, the same low, intimate voice unleashed upon her in her father’s study when he’d told her he got what he wanted always. 

“No, of course not, My Lord. I merely was curious over the household. I am somewhat aware of your family history.” Sympathy and apology in her voice for having brought up such a terrible thing. “I know you have two brothers. Will they be there when we arrive?”

It was obvious he was sobered by this turn in the conversation, but when he spoke, it was not unkindly. “My youngest brother Matthias will be there, yes. He is a bit of a … well, in some ways he is not unlike myself at his age.” His smile rose, then faded as he glanced up at her, a cloud moving over his countenance and then just as quickly it was gone. “My elder brother, Bertram, is a cleric of the Matron of Ravens. He will more than likely be at the temple in Rexxentrum. He always returns mid-Cuersaar to lead the Night of Ascension.” There was a mingling of annoyance and affection in his voice.

“I have never met a cleric of the Raven Queen. Is he…” she bit back her impertinent question before it could fully escape.

“Is he … what? Dour? Cold? Creepy?”

“No, my Lord! I would nev…” She looked up with shamed apology in her eyes only to see him grinning at her. It was quite disconcerting. “I-I would never say such things.” 

“Oh, you will eventually. He is all those things. Pale, haughty, detached from the world at times…” He sighed. “But he is a good man, and he does good work. I was angry when he chose his faith over being Lord, forcing me to take up the mantle, but that is how it had to be. I know now he’d have made a very miserable Lord.” He held her eyes with his own. “One must follow their passions after all if there is any hope for happiness.”

She nodded softly and pulled her eyes away. “Y-yes, of course. That is sensible.” Her heart hammered so hard that she was sure he could see it fluttering under her bodice like a trapped bird. She would try to think like a chatelaine for a moment. It distracted her from contemplating how dark it was getting, how rakish he looked at the moment, how alone they were. “What of the servants?”

“What about them?” He queried, his voice very soft. 

“I will have to meet with them after we have arrived. Learn the workings of the household and so forth.” 

“I do not pay too much heed to them. I have Caspar for that. Tomorrow, perhaps, he can be spared to fill you in on such things. As it stands, I have other subjects I would like to discuss.” 

“S-such as?” She shivered and it was nothing to do with cold. 

With careful grace he moved toward her. She slid over instinctively to give him room on the seat as he half sat, helf knelt, turned toward her. His fingers were cool as they brushed her jaw, slipping down to peel back the unbuttoned edge of her collar. “How did this happen?” 

“I…” her breath stuck in her chest and would not move for several seconds. “I was in your room, as you know and I tried to lie down without waking you and…”

“Ah.” His fingers trailing along the skin, making the tender flesh burn. “Doubtless I woke thinking you an assassin come to put a blade between my ribs.” He pulled the edge of her collar back and leaned closer, his nose brushing her skin, his flesh cold but his breath heated and steamy as the afternoon air had been. “An explanation, not an excuse.” A tender kiss brushed the bruise above her pulse and she bit back a low sound of shock and pleasure. “I am sorry you were hurt.” His voice a purring murmur as his fingers urged the fabric further down in pursuit of every bruised spot. 

“I-I-I’m sure I will heal quickly enough, My Lord.” She swallowed hard as his lips moved over her neck. The faint prickle of a day gone without shaving was a stark contrast to the softness of his lips. “I...I think it best we let it be in the past and give it no more concern.” Holding to good manners was now akin to trying to hold a sliver of ice in the summer sun. 

“Does my show of concern displease you, My Lady?” His murmur so near her ear. 

“I-I cannot say that is so.” Flustered and dizzy she clenched her hands tightly in her lap. “I am forbidden to lie to my Lord.” 

He made a sound, it was a low vibration from deep within, a mingling of sigh and growl and then he was gone, throwing himself back across the carriage into his own seat. His eyes turned toward the darkening window, his right hand held in his left, his thumb rubbing tensely against his palm.


	14. Chapter 14

The rain hammered against the roof of the carriage as he attempted to center his thoughts. Knowing now what he did, he realized he was so very ignorant of his bride. What made her who she was. Seeing her so pale, hauled away from the carriage limp and unconscious, he had known it was his fault. When he saw the goblin chasing her, he had been too terrified to move, and he cursed himself for that frailty. It had been self-directed fury, at his impotence and his inability to keep her safe that had fed his temper. It had been a desire to keep her safe that had made him slide the dagger into the latch. Locking her into what so nearly became her coffin. 

“I do, indeed, command honesty, My Lady. Do know, however, I do not demand what I will not myself give. I have three coins to your one, I believe. I want very much to take the last.” He looked across at her, eyes trailing over her face, the open parting of her undone collar leaving her throat still visible, his body keenly aware still of her skin against his lips. “I began last time…” he tore his eyes away. “You may begin this round.” 

She seemed to be unsure. “My Lord, I have questions that are not … game-related. Well, I suppose they are, but they are _about_ the game and not so much part of the actual questions that make up the game…” She bit her lip. “Forgive me. I sometimes run on when I am nervous.” 

“What are your questions?” He had noticed her babbling tendencies and he had not minded too much. It had always given him a small twinge of something pleasant to see her a bit off-kilter. 

“While I understand that the first to hold all four wins, I do not know what the prize is.” 

“That is for the winner to choose. What would you choose if you won? ” He smiled, very curious as to what she’d ask for. 

“I … “ she blushed a bit and shook her head. “I hadn’t thought of anything.” She fidgeted a bit. “I suppose I would do all I could to never win, so I could always have the chance to have my questions answered.” 

“I see.” He nodded. “Well I am not so magnanimous. I have a very specific prize in mind when I take that last copper from your fingers.” 

“And what is that?” 

He smiled and steepled his fingertips before his lips, brows lifted in inquiry as he held her blues with his own. “I will take that to be your choice to start the game. Very well.” He leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees, fingers interlacing between them. He had two choices. He could be honest. Tell her that he had determined he would have her in his lap, skirt up, losing herself to pleasure at her husband’s hand as they passed through the gates of Ravenswood… or he could refrain and give her back a copper, thus making them even again. It would have been pleasant to see her cheek redden and the shock in her eyes if he confessed his thoughts, but he wanted the game to last, and so he slid his fingers into his own purse and laid out the three coppers, taking one between index and second. “I choose to keep that secret, for now. You will learn of it soon enough anyway.” 

He noted her hand shaking as she reached up and took it, turning it over in her palm and adding the one she had already. “As you have already answered the question, I will allow you to pose me another.” 

She nodded. “Something simple then. Do you have any pursuits you find diverting, My Lord von Freidrich?”

“I do.” He nodded once. “Though you did not ask what they might be, I will infer that was included. I enjoy solitude and so most of what diversions I have from work reflect this. I take pleasure in walking in the mountains, in my library, in riding. When I do venture into more public places, I tend to withdraw and take my enjoyment by watching others and lingering in the background.” 

“Ah.” She nodded slowly. “I am somewhat similar I suppose. I enjoy quiet pursuits. I expect we will spend many an hour sitting quietly in the library, enjoying our solitude together.” She chuckled softly. “An oxymoron, is it not? Solitude together?” Still smiling she shook her head. “I will not intrude on you, My Lord. I understand very much how vital peaceful coexistence is.” 

He noticed that never did the coins stop moving, her slender fingers turning the coins over and over in her upturned palm. Token of nerves perhaps. He was transfixed. She was dexterous as a gambler, and he found his thoughts again shifting to the carnal. Of those fingers more intimately deployed. 

“It is your turn, My Lord.” She smiled softly toward him, pulling his eyes from her hands and his mind from the gutter. 

“Ah, so it is.” He regretted now that he’d given the coin back. He wanted more than ever to win now. “Hmm.” he narrowed his eyes a bit, considering whether to be good or wicked. “You have seen me naked, I assume, as I woke that way and you were in the room, so my question is… what part, not currently visible, did you find most attractive?” 

She gasped and nearly dropped the coin in her fingertips, her head bowed and shaken softly. “My Lord…” 

He reached out and nudged her chin to draw her to look up into his eyes. “When we are alone, I would prefer if you were to use my name, not my title.” 

“I will try.” She swallowed hard. “I will answer as honestly as I can. I did not see much, it was dark, but I did find you to be well made and unblemished on the whole. I think, of what is covered now, the most alluring part of you was, at the time, your back.” 

“My back?” 

“Yes, My Lord… I mean… “ She seemed somehow unable to say his name. “If it were to me, I was not faced with… “ Her jaw tensed, obviously irritated, and if he read it right, it was not at him. 

“I understand.” He reached out and gently took hold of her wrist, slipping his hand to take her own and give it a small squeeze of consolation. “I must now answer, yes? What part not visible do I find most attractive? I cannot say your neck, for it is visible. I have seen only a small portion more than I see now…” 

“But my Lord just this morning I woke undressed. Did you not ...” 

“No.” He chuckled and sat back, his fingers interwoven and draped over his stomach casually. “Becca, the innkeeper’s daughter did it. I admit that I managed to see your shoulder and arm and a tiny bit of your back but… even that was enough to make me consider …” he bit his lip, stopping himself before he confessed his thoughts aloud. 

“Consider peeling the blankets away and having your pleasure while I slept? I would not have condemned you for it. It was your due, and would have thought it part of the dream.”

“You dreamt of me?” He knew the moment he asked that she had not meant to imply such, but now she was caught. 

She began to stammer and he could see her mind working rapidly to find a way to deflect the question. “I did.” Choosing, it seemed, to be both honest, and deeply unsatisfyingly devoid of details. Where was that prattling now? 

“It is your turn then.” he gestured that the proverbial floor was hers. He knew sooner she asked her question the sooner he’d be able to ask his and learn more of what she had dreamt. 

“Why did you marry me?” 

She was so very serious that he felt compelled to mirror it. “I came to Yrrosa for a wife, so I suppose I had resigned myself to taking one. I believed I had ruined you, and I admit that I wanted you. I thought you would be useful as well as pretty, which cannot be said for most women in my acquaintance, and most assuredly not your sister. You do not have to answer in return, I know you married me only to assure the alliance would be knit.” 

“No, My Lord.” She shook her head. “That is untrue. It is, of course, part of it. As your belief that I was ruined was part of your own reason. It is not, however, the whole, nor even a very large portion of my reasons. I married you because you are a fine man. Not only your face and your framing, which are quite admirable, but you spoke to everyone, Lord or servant, in the same manner. You did not degrade or seem cruel. Your men clearly admired you, and one can learn more in how a Lord treats those beneath him than in how he treats his equals.”

He sat for a long moment, unable to speak. “Thank you.” He had never considered he hadn’t forced her into it. Now that it was his turn again, he did not want to ask what the contents of her dream had been. Well, he _did_ want to know the answer, but he didn’t want to embarrass her further. “Why do you refuse to say my name?”

“I’m not refusing!” She stammered a little. “I-i just… I can’t. I suppose it feels too informal. You are a Lord by birth. I am only a Lady by adoption,” she chuckled. “Then by marriage. You hardly use mine either, to be fair.” 

“Do you wish to hear your name on my lips?” He could not help that his voice took a hint of a growl. What had been a simple request before had now become something more to him. 

She shook her head faintly. “I don’t … I mean, you can, if it pleased you, but I do not demand it.”

“But I do.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I demand it. Say my name. No one will hear but us.” She seemed to be terribly bothered and he could surmise the reason perhaps. It was about capitulation. She was saying it because he commanded it. Performing an act she deemed to be intimate. To surrender too easily would set a bad precedent in her mind, he wagered. 

“Please.” She chuckled dryly, her eyes betraying her inner turmoil. 

“You are being purposefully defiant. When I was defiant as a child, my father would simply begin to count. Each number he reached before I came to him would be how many lashes with his belt I would take. I will, as this is your first time, go backward first. I give you until I run out of numbers. Then I will have no choice but to count forward.” He had no true intentions of truly hurting her but he had no qualms about pulling her across his lap and swatting her backside. “Drie… Zwei…” 

“Stop, please.” She gasped lightly and bit her lip. “Wilhelm, please stop counting.”

He smiled and unfolded his arms slowly. “There. That was not at all as difficult as you were making it seem, was it?” 

“No.” She shook her head softly, again taking to fidgeting with the coins. 

He had to rid her of them if only to stop the soft clink of their collision with one another. “You said you dreamt of me last night. What happened in the dream?” He was rewarded when her head shot up and she fixed him with a look of mild panic. He fought the smile down as she held out the copper toward him. “That good hmm? It remains my turn.” A flip of that coin in his fingers, not nearly so deft as she, but it gave him something to concentrate on. “Am I the first man you ever kissed?”

“No, My Lord.” That wasn’t the answer he was expecting, and he admitted that a stab of jealousy took hold of him far too keenly for his liking. “Wait. Yes.” 

“Which is it?” He growled a bit. 

“Well, when I was younger, just after my grandfather’s passing, a village boy, a friend, he was comforting me and I gave him a kiss on his cheek to thank him. He was a boy though, and so you are the first _man_ I have ever kissed. I don’t think you mean to count my father or grandfather whose cheek I have often...” 

“Indeed. Familial kisses do not count.” he was torn between amusement and arousal. “I will rephrase my question. Am I the only one who has tasted your lips, Renata?” 

“Y-yes, of course you are.” 

“Shall I kiss you again?” He lifted a hand to stem her answer. “If you wish me to refrain, you must say ‘no, Wilhelm, I do not want your lips on mine’.” 

She nodded quietly. “For conversation’s sake, suppose that if I did not mind if you kissed me?” 

“Then you must say so. Tell your husband you want to taste his lips as much as he craves yours.” A devilish smile in the shadows, the want of her was growing anew. Her discomfort only gave him pleasure because it meant she felt something. The warmth of her blushing cheek meant there was something sparking thoughts that excited her. After several long seconds of silence, he lifted his brows. “Must I count?”

“I-I...I enjoyed your kiss, My Lord…” 

“Eins!”

She looked up and gasped. “Wilhelm! Please!” 

“Please what?” He was gratified to see her shoulders square, her back straighten, a look of the same determination that he had seen in her when she’d sat so calmly giving terms for his escape from the marital noose. “If you want a kiss, you must ask for one politely.” smirking as he sat back, arms crossing over his chest. He did not expect that she would stand up, gathering her skirts in one hand as she leaned down and set her other hand on his shoulder, her lips pressing to his. The warmth of her mouth sent tongues of flame to race across every part of him. The kiss was soft and chaste and over too soon. 

“I… I take what I want.” She echoed back to him, though without the resolve with which he’d said it after kissing her in the study. “And I want… you.” The last barely a whisper. 

He stared at her for several long seconds, everything within him coiled up like a serpent preparing to strike. “My name.” He slowly uncrossed his arms and set his palms to her waist. “Say it again. Who do you want, Renata.”

“I want you, Wilhe..” but the rest was lost in the heat of his mouth, pulling her against him, her palms against his chest. His tongue sought to plunder the warmth of her mouth and he felt her jaw drop to allow it. He was keenly aware he was inside of her and that awareness sent his loins to ache. She kissed him back, tentatively, then with abandonment to her passion, moaning lightly as his palms slid up and down her back, pressing her tighter to him as if he sought to pass through her completely. His mouth hungrily sealed to her own, leaning into her palms, shuddering when they moved across his chest, separated from their warmth only by the thin damp layers of his doublet and shirt.

The breathless panting when the kiss was broken echoed luridly in the small space. His lips trailing over her cheek and jaw and at her earlobe, he closed his teeth against the flesh and growled, rewarded with a yelp of shock and subsequent melting against him as her knees grew weaker. 

“Oh, Gods, please don’t do that. I can’t bear it.” 

“I have to go. If I stay…” He had not released her though. He couldn’t. “You deserve more than to be groped in a carriage like some debutante whose libertine escort cannot be trusted to privacy.” 

“It is raining…” 

“The cold will do me good. I fear it is my turn to be overheated.” He smiled faintly and urged her to her own seat, his body a tight and throbbing collection of needful aching. “I believe it was your turn.” 

She was quiet and he was grateful of it. He could take the time to calm down. He was acting like some schoolboy who had just learned what girls were. He could barely see her now except for the flashes of lightning that sent a single image to haunt him with each flash. He should go. 

“Have you thought of having me as your lover more than once today?” 

It was his turn to look up in shock. She blinked at him, and he gripped the coins in his fist tightly. He could relent one. Put them back on even ground. All he had to do was refuse to answer. If he did answer, she would be compelled by the rules to do the same or else surrender her last coin and he would win his prize. 

“Woman, you press on when you should retreat to safety.” He truly began to fear himself. If he remained, he was going to claim his rights as a husband on the floor of the carriage… or pull her onto his lap and let every bump in the road drive him deeper into her… He grit his teeth. “Yes. Damn you. Countless times.” He fixed his eyes on her, a shade among shadows. “And you?”

“Yes.” She whispered it into the dark. “I have thought of it, My Lord Wilhelm.” 

“And what did you imagine, my Lady, when you thought of having me as your lover.” He was resolved that he would not leave this time. It would be torment, but he knew if he touched her, he would be lost so he willed himself to keep to his side of the carriage no matter what she said. 

“Of your hands upon me. Your… your mouth on my skin.” Her voice barely audible beneath the thrumming cadence of the rain on the roof. 

“Did I tell you how beautiful you are?” 

“No.” She shook her head. “You just.. “ She bit her lip, turning her head away, suddenly bashful. 

“Tell me. I will not judge you wicked, I cannot. I am a devil compared to the worst that you can possibly conjure.” 

“My Lord, I cannot say such things.” 

“Ein..” he growled. 

“Wilhelm.. Please, I can’t!” 

“Zwei…” He lowered his voice to a feral sort of gruffness. “A lie. You can, you just won’t.” 

“Yes, I _won’t_ say.” She swallowed hard. “I won’t have you know that I’m deviant.” 

“Then give me the coin. I asked you a question, and you are refusing to answer. “ he put his hand out. She did not, obviously, want to surrender it. There was a loud crash of thunder that made her twitch and squeal, her hands flying up over her mouth. He could hear her tremulous breathing and if he could have trusted himself, he would have moved to comfort her. With a shaking hand, she put the coin in his palm. He had won. Why did he feel so disappointed?

“Well played.” he forced his voice to sound light and cavalier. “I look forward to perhaps playing again in the future.” 

“What will you be claiming as your winnings?”

He thought of his original idea, and put it out of his mind. “Hmm. I shall have to think about it. Drink,” he motioned to the waterskin beside her. “While I consider.” He would let her sweat a bit. He would think of something tame, but while he did, she could imagine the worst.

The rain began to lighten, the sound of thunder now growing more separate from the lightning’s flashing. They would make good time no doubt now that the storm was passing them. They would arrive by midday. He was sure that the people would be out in droves to get a glimpse of their new Lady. Most knew where he had gone and why. If he rode into town with her inside the carriage with the shutters closed, it would spark rumors. If he opened them, and they saw a dark-haired woman instead of the blonde, it would still lead to questions and he would need an answer at hand. The truth was as fine an answer as any, but despite his dislike for Margareta Rosenfeld, she was now his sister by marriage and he did not want to speak ill of her. 

He could do as he had during the wedding. Tell everyone that he had chosen Renata because he thought her clever and beautiful and a better match for his temperament. Then he could almost see the citizens faces. They had been uneasy since Wilhelm had become their Lord. Unlike his father, and his eldest brother Constantin, Wilhelm was seen as weak. If he admitted to everyone that he had married because he _liked_ his wife? They would see it as another proof that he was unfit. 

He had never wished to be Lord. His father and mother died in the terrible plague and Constantin had been Lord. Then he was murdered, along with their only sister. Bertram as next eldest should have taken the responsibility. He took to the dias, his dark robes adorned with glossy feathers against his pale cheek as he stood before the people and abdicated. "I have no wish to leave my Matron's company. In this life and beyond I serve her alone. I cannot then serve this land's people as their Lord. I will advise your new Lord to the best of my abilities." And he held out the ceremonial sword to Wilhelm and from the moment he’d taken it, his fate was sealed. 

“My Lord…” her voice slightly shaky. “I have drunk a good deal… and the rain…” She glanced toward the door, blushing. “May we stop for a bit?”

“Of course.” He was glad of the moment of respite. He thumped on the roof as he rose and the carriage came to a slow stop. She sprang out and he moved after her. She turned, looking at him with confusion. “I am sorry I have no maids to go with you, and you cannot go alone into the darkness, My Lady.” 

“My Lord, please!” her tone desperate. “I cannot … with someone so near.” She gasped softly. “Wait, you said in the wagon that you would leash me.” 

His brows shot up. “I did, yes. Do you want to be leashed?” He watched her face and saw shock and shame in the rising red, but perhaps there was something else at the fringes. 

“No, My Lord, I meant that if you were to tie a rope around … my waist or my wrist perhaps, that you might feel better about giving me some privacy. You will know I am not more than fifty feet at best and if anything happens I will tug the rope. “ Her tone was desperate, and he understood her need for solitude in this situation. 

“A good idea. I will allow it.” The rope procured from the wagon, he looped it around her wrist and felt a little thrill when her breath caught in her throat. So there _had_ been something there. She scampered off and he held the end of the rope, keeping an eye on the surroundings as the drizzle fell and his lady was occupied. A few moments later the rope began to twitch. He spied her walking back, rolling it up as she approached. 

“Thank you, My Lord.” Rain dripped down her face, her hair was darkened to near black by both the lack of light and the wetness. Her lashes caught tiny droplets that glimmered in the faint touches of moonlight that managed to filter through the thinning clouds. He had a thought. It was a dangerous thought, and it was not even fully formed yet, but it was overtaking his mind. 

He took the rope and pulled, the jerk against her arm dragging her a half-step toward him, his arm behind him pulling hers to do the same so she had no choice but to stand so close she had to tip back her head to look up at his face. “You dreamed I was a villain, didn’t you. That I came to your room to punish you for lying to me. That I took my rights as your husband without mercy?”

He was pleased but not surprised to see her eyes widen and the truth of his words was proven even before she faintly nodded.

“I am a villain, My Lady.” His free hand lifted to her jaw, thumb brushing her lower lip where a raindrop had caught. “You are too clever to be fooled into believing otherwise. Tomorrow, I will carry you over the threshold of Ravenswood as my prize. The spoils of my conquest of the Western lands. You asked me to name my spoils. You, My Lady, are to be just that.” 

“But…” His thumb rose to press against her lips and still any protest. 

“I will do you no harm. I will take nothing you do not freely give. Though I am rife with darkness, My Lady, I am not a rapist, even of my own wife.” He leaned down near to her ear. “I do not think I will have to work hard to persuade you though. Your dreams betray you.” Whispered with venomous softness, a whimper from her lips proving his words had struck deep. “Sleep while you can. Your husband is leaving you one last night of solitude before you are chained to my bed.” 

He stood straight again, choosing to leave it unclear whether that was meant literally or not. He relaxed his pull on the rope and brought her hand around to untie the cord and open the carriage door, hand out to help her ascend. “Renata?” He sobered a moment. “Say goodnight to your husband. He will be waiting in his room when your Lord and Master has finished with you.”

He could feel her tension radiating like heat as she stood there, poised at the door. “Goodnight, Wilhelm.” Her voice was barely audible. With a swift step, she moved into the carriage and he shut the door firmly at her back. 

“Prepare to move on!” he shouted as he searched out Caspar. He would need his friend’s help to assure all went according to plan.


	15. Chapter 15

The sun rose over the dark crags of the Silberquel Ridge, the village at its feet soon bathed in sunshine. The lands through which the caravan now wove were laden with the heavy orchards of fruits and vineyards as well as nut trees that flowed into the village itself. The tall slender houses in reds, whites, browns amidst a mountainside of deep summer green. Cobblestone streets, still wet with the effects of the night’s rain, were soon drying as the village came to life. In the night, one of his Lordship’s guards had arrived and now like wildfire the news that Lord von Freidrich had returned with his bride had burned through the town. They hung strings of wildflowers from windows and across the wide main road that passed through town. There was little excitement in the town, as they were hardly more than a glorified trade stop between Druvenlode and Rexxentrum, so when something of note happened, it tended to draw a crowd. 

Several miles yet to travel, the caravan had stopped. Wilhelm, with Caspar at his side, stood a few yards from the remainder of the group, reins in hand. 

“Gilbert rode in with Oren last night?”

“Yes, My Lord. He was, as you commanded, sent directly to the healers to have his arm looked at. Oren went to the tavern and conveyed the message of your arrival, and he is, even now, assuring the city will be ready to welcome our new Lady.” He sighed. “You are set upon this course then?”

“I am.” He nodded to the men. “Jürgen should take the wagon to the keep and have its contents put where they belong. The lady will have my mother’s rooms, they should be made ready by now. Karl, Merton, Rolph, and yourself will ride with us. Denis can drive the carriage. See to it.”

“Of course, My Lord.” There was a hint of tension in Caspar’s voice. He understood the plan. The men, however, knew nothing. “I took the liberty of having Merton and Rolph hang the tarp so the Lady can dress outside of the carriage and attend her business without prying eyes. They will strike the ersatz screen before we move out, of course.”

He looked out across the small gathering of vehicles and men, then toward the village, less than a thousand yards away. “Assure she is inside the carriage so we may begin this farce.” He waited, watching, as Caspar mounted up and rode toward the group. He saw him speak to Jürgen, then to Karl and the others who began to take down the hastily cobbled dressing screen at the back of the carriage. A nod from Caspar, and he stalked back toward the camp, his face a mask of mute fury. 

He did not have to feign the air of tension as he stopped, his men doing likewise to look in his direction. 

“I am aware you are somewhat fond of your new Lady. She made a fine impression on you in Yrrosa, I hear. “ There were nods and soft mutterings of agreement, though tempered by unease. “Yesterday I bade her to remain in the carriage where it would be safe. Instead, she chose to lead a goblin off, by herself.” He shook his head sadly. “Thankfully her hard-headed disobedience didn’t get her killed. This time. She must learn that when her Lord commands, she is to obey without question.”

The men nodded faintly and Caspar set them to prepare to roll out. Wilhelm was now sure that they would not interfere in some soft-hearted attempt to save her from him. He closed his eyes a moment, calling up all the feelings he’d experienced when he learned she’d lied to him about sharing his bed, his terror when he’d seen her covered in blood under the dead goblin, and tempered that animal fury with the heated darkness of her eyes when he’d discovered her secret. 

From the pack at his horse’s side he drew out the coiled length of silken rope he had cut from the longer piece early this morning. Pulling it through his fingers, feeling the smoothness and the tickle against his palm, he stalked to the carriage and threw open the door. She sat at the far side of the carriage and he had to admit she was lovelier today than the day before. Her hair was pulled back in a thick braid under her wimple, her dress of deep wine over the ivory beneath, the same underdress she had worn to the wedding. It was obvious he had startled her.

“Come. Here.” He pointed to the ground before him. She shook her head softly, her eyes large and luminous in the darkened interior. “Do you want me to come to fetch you out? He smiled in a way that felt evil and judging by her gasp it showed as such. “You may just as easily be lead naked as dressed, my dear. Though I doubt you’ll reach the keep before I could no longer bear the temptation. Do you wish to be mounted like a slut in the gutter or will you _**obey me?!**_ ” His voice rising with a fury as he stared at her. 

“Wilhelm, please..” her voice tremulous. 

He frowned and shook his head. “So familiar. You speak as if I am your lover, not your Lord. Another strike against you, My Lady.” He set his toe on the step and lurched in the door, grabbing hold of her ankles and pulling her toward the doorway, squealing and kicking. He pinned her against the side of the carriage, his greater height and weight keeping her still enough that he could wind the rope around her wrists in tandem. He looked into her eyes, the fear was there, but he saw what he had seen the night before. A mote of excitement as well as the uncertainty. Her fighting slowed, the ceased. He wound her hands firmly, crossing and wrapping the rope between to allow that there was a space of a half dozen inches which he could grab hold of. 

He lifted his voice so he could be overheard. “I should have done this yesterday and you would not have gone running off after goblins instead of obeying your Lord. You must learn to do as you are told!” He slid his hand under her chin, lifting it up, looking into her eyes again, letting her see his anger at her, but also how he wanted her. How afraid she’d made him. “Do not mistake me, My Lady.” His voice was soft and low, only audible to her now. “I will keep you naked in chains, locked to my bedpost if I must.” 

She gave a little whimper and her blues slipped into the darker color he was growing to understand marked her arousal as sure as his blood thickened and heated, pooling in his loins with a dull ache marked his own. With a soft grunt, he hoisted her over his shoulder as he marched to reclaim his horse. He pushed her to mount, then slid behind her. He reached around and took the reins in one hand, his other holding tight to the knotted space between her bound hands. A nudge and he pulled her up against him more securely. Her eyes widened when the hardness of his arousal dug against her flesh. She looked back at him with a gasp and her mouth became a soft ‘o’ that spawned a dozen thoughts over what that mouth could be trained to do. Damn him, he was only supposed to be pretending to be a blackguard, but he found the line between truth and fiction was swiftly blurring. 

The procession began, and on a whim, he reached up and peeled the obscuring linen of her wimple away and undid the thong holding her braid secure, his fingers rushing through to set the waves of deepest brown to tumble around her shoulders. As they rode, he kept his lips near her ear. “They will see you as what you are. A prize from a distant place that I have taken as mine, and woe to anyone who would take you from me.” Her body shifted against him and he groaned. “Do not move. I will not be responsible for what I do if you are not still, woman.” his teeth nipped at her ear, earning him a small breathy gasp from her lips. 

As they crossed through the city gates the streets were filling with villagers, all welcoming back their Lord, anxious to see the lady they had heard of by reputation. He could see their confusion and surprise. “They thought to see an elegant and cold blonde in my carriage. Not you. Not my dark calculating vixen. Temptress who tricked me so cruelly.” He heard her moan and grow tense. Perhaps he had tread too close to whatever it was she’d dreamed of him. 

“Every man here despises me now.” He tightened his grip around her waist. “They know what I am going to do to you and wish it were they who will taste your kiss on their lips, your body beneath theirs...” he nudged her jaw, torturing himself as much as he was tormenting her. “You cannot lie. Not to me. I can feel you burning to writhe and beg me to touch you, kiss you, ravish you. You'll get your chance soon enough, my pet.” 

Reaching the center of town, he made a slow circle around the center fountain, clearing the spot before pulling his horse to stop. “Citizens of Ravenswood. You expected I wager, a delicate bauble would adorn my arm when I returned from the Eastern lands.” He lifted his voice and sat straight in the saddle. He had been aware of the confusion and the lust, but now he could see within the throng there were also faces who showed concern as they noticed that their new Lady was bound. Let them think that he was taking up more than just the title, but the mantle of the notoriously cruel and brutal Lords who had preceded him. “Instead, I bring something far more valuable. Where her sister was a trinket, a paste gem without value, your new Lady is a treasure beyond my expectation.” He could not help but admit it. “She is, however, too headstrong and she is being punished for disobedience to her new Lord’s commands. Let this introduction be a reminder that your father is no longer the one whose will you must bend to. This lesson will only need to be taught once, correct?”

He looked at her and saw her, slightly demeaned and embarrassed, defiant but keeping her temper in check. “I am your slave, My Lord. Your will is my pleasure to obey.” Her chin dropped a bit, her eyes demure, but in them, he saw a flash of teasing, of her own measure of torment being given. 

Pride and lust in tandem flooded his being. He looked over the gathered company. “This is a lesson to you as well. I am not my father, not my brother, but I **am** your Lord.” he glared with a regal stare across the crowd. “I do not ask your fealty. I demand it.” He wheeled his horse around and continued toward the dark keep. 

He pressed her pert backside into the crux of his pelvis and he winced at the pleasure-pain of having her shifting against such urgent flesh with every step the horse took over the cobblestones. “Castle Ravenwood.” he rested his arm against her hip, keeping her from moving away from him. “Where your screams for mercy will go unheeded.”

The walls of stone that flanked the courtyard were capped with sharp spades of blackened iron, the same dark hue as the gates, each imbued with a small raven in silhouette on a round field of silver. Beyond the gate, the imposing edifice of age-darkened stone was at once beautiful and cold. Windows, dark within, arched in their framework like a dozen eyes ever watchful. The wide path that lead to the manor was edged by tall and well-tended roses of the deepest crimson. Smaller outbuildings sat at the edges of the inner wall, simple and efficiently made more recently, but even they seemed to be tainted by the air of ancient decay that clung to the place.

Reaching the front door, the servants were absent from view as he’d already sent word they should be encouraged to remain far from his lady's sight tonight. Dismounting, he drug her down into his arms, looking into her eyes. His demons quieted. He reached up and set his fingers at her cheek, tender as he held her gaze. “Speak ‘hold’ Renata, if this displeases you.” 

“My Lord, you said I was to obey. Is that not the lesson?” She averted her gaze, her breath soft and shallow. She was afraid, it was obvious, but neither had she spoken ‘hold’. She was a mystery to him, and he feared he would never solve her. 

His hand on her cheek slid back into her hair, dragging her head to bend and his mouth fell upon hers with a crushing kiss that was proof of his desperation. He tasted the tang of copper, though whether the blood was hers or his, he could not say. His right hand closed over the corded spacer between her bound wrists and pulled, dragging her to stumble behind him through the house. He would, tomorrow, take pleasure in a casual walk through the home, showing off what bits pleased him, hearing her opinion on what might be improved. Tonight, however, he wanted only to hear her moan and beg and weep for want of him. He threw open the door to his room and cast her before him, slamming the doors at his back with a crack like thunder.

She stumbled but caught herself, looking around as she backed away from him a bit. His room was not large, the fireplace at the back wall was lit and a small door sat opened to a small stone balcony. The walls were devoid of hangings to warm them, the furnishings small and unobtrusive except for the bed. It was dark ebony colored wood, smooth and glossy with heavy curtains on all four sides on iron poles with raven heads on the end. 

He was on her the moment she turned her head toward him, his hand laid across her mouth. “Speak only when I ask a question. I have learned your tongue tends to run like a rain-filled river when you are nervous and I am in no mood for prattling. If you cannot control your tongue, I have other tasks it can perform.” he smiled faintly at how her eyes grew wide, then averted and the heat of her cheek almost seared his hand. Lowering it, he stepped back and looked her up and down, circling her as she stood in the center of his room. “You thought you could deceive me. Make a fool of me and I would leave your father’s lands with only a bit of paper and some grain to satisfy me?” He felt her stiffen as he slid his hand around her waist from behind, pressing her against him, the digging hardness of his lust pressed into her lower back. “I admit I came for the alliance.” he lowered his voice and his head, his lips at her ear. “And then I saw you. Walking with those keys bouncing, a bell to lure in every eye to your body. You walked without any womanly shame. It was blatant how much you wanted me to take you. I knew you would come to me. Did I seem surprised that it was you?” He waited and hearing nothing, nipped at her ear’s edge. “Answer me.” 

“N-no, My Lord. You did not seem surprised.” 

“You were haunting my dreams that night. I thought I was still dreaming when I saw your face over me and then I felt your flesh, your mouth so hot and I knew you felt the same. You came to my room of your own free will. You were all but naked. You knew it could go wrong, didn’t you? That I might not be so drunk as you thought? What would you have done if I did not pass out, Renata?” He slid his hand downward, pressing his palm over her belly and leaning her forward a bit so he could rub himself faintly against the outward thrust roundness of her backside, knowing it would scandalize her. “If I were the villain then that I am now.” 

“I ...I do not know.” She said softly, betraying herself by moving faintly to press into him. Heated little minx! 

He cursed her inwardly, his knees weakened, his jaw clenched. He had never wanted any woman like he wanted Renata but damned if she did not make him feel like an untried youth. He needed to step away before he lost himself completely. Though it was difficult, he slowly disentangled himself and took a step back. “Then I believe you should think about it. It is just after mid-day. I will show you to your rooms for now. You may settle your things, and I will send you a maid to help you. I will see you have luncheon and dinner as well.” He reached out and set his hand against her cheek. “Tonight, at midnight, you will return to this room and we will discover what would have happened were your prey not at a disadvantage.”

It was a torment to genially take her arm and lead her down the hall, turning and following the next to the wing which his mother had once occupied. Constantin had never married, so it had hardly been touched, save to keep it tidy since. They had, as he’d requested, made them ready for his bride. “These rooms are yours, you may make changes if you find them needed, but as in all things here, I would ask you to not do anything without asking. What might seem unimportant to you may well be quite valuable to me.” He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a chaste kiss to her knuckles, though his eyes betrayed his inner turmoil before he gave a curt nod and walked away while he still could. 

Behind him, a young servant boy, arms laden with dusty sheets, was moving through the passage. “Come.” He did not pay further heed than to command, his long-legged stride carrying him to the private study adjacent to his own room. The boy had, somewhere, lost the armload of sheets, but was still a bit dusty as he bowed his head from the doorway. “Has the wagon been unloaded yet?” 

“Not fully, My Lord.” The young man spoke with a slightly uncertain tone. “The new Lady’s things are taken to her rooms as you commanded, but when Sir Caspar saw your direction, he chose to hold back your own chest, fearing delivery might be an unwelcome interruption.” 

“Excellent. Have him bring it to me here as well as any of the port that survived.” he closed the door, then, thinking of something else, he threw it open. The boy whipped his head around, startled, but bowed his head a bit as he waited expectantly. “And a pitcher, basin, and washcloths. I want the road off of me.” 

“Yes, My Lord” The boy racing off the way he’d come. 

When Caspar arrived, he found his Lord at the desk making notes in his books. A small thud as the trunk was dropped, his arms folding across his chest as he regarded him. “Was there no other way?”

“What do they say?” 

“Who?” Caspar was mildly confused, watching as the servants brought in a pitcher of hot water, a basin and a pile of towels, setting them on the desk before stepping out. 

“The people. Are they shocked? Appalled? Are there mutterings that the curse lives on, corrupting every Lord who sits upon the high seat?” Smirking as he poured the water in the basin and began to remove his traveling clothes. 

“I would not doubt it. They were beginning to think of you as an exception.” 

“I am glad to disprove that then. They followed my father because they were afraid not to. They followed my brother for the same reason. Every problem was one solved by the application of force.” 

“Like trying to break into a jewel box with a war hammer,” Caspar muttered. “It worked, but there was no finesse.” 

“They are used to barbarians, Caspar. Of rule with an iron fist. I can, in time, show them another way, but as it stands, they equate rule with that fist and so, I must give them what they want so they will trust me enough to show them what they need.” 

Caspar’s brows lifted. “Very well thought out.” He sighed. “Was it her idea? It sounds like too clever a plan for you to have come up with.” 

“No, but she is indeed very clever. She saw the best thing to do was to play along.”

“She did do well, she looked as if she were the sultan’s daughter in that saucy story Izem at the Silken Grotto used to tell.” 

Wilhelm nodded. He knew well the tale of a band of raiders in Marquet who happened on the daughter of a sultan bathing in an oasis. They carried her and her lady-maids off to a debauchery from which, when her father’s soldiers came to rescue them, they would not flee. It was an oft-told tale of the cinnamon-skinned bard of their favored brothel. “Here is hoping our story will end the same.”

“You certainly don’t expect that her father will come to retrieve her?” Caspar lifted his brows. 

Wilhelm chuckled under his breath as he held the wet washcloth against his neck. “I was speaking more to the middle bits actually.” Resuming his scrubbing to both cool himself down and be rid of the dust and sweat of the long journey. “A favor?” He looked about as if to reassure himself they were alone. “Remind the servants to keep their tongues in their heads and their ears far from doors. I do not want it betrayed I was a lion in the street and a kitten in my Lady’s lap in private. I will be spending a great deal of time apologizing for what I did.” 

“Understood. I will see to it. Is there anything more I may do for you tonight, My Lord?” 

“Um...see that something is sent up for her to eat, and find some suitable maid to attend her. I can think of nothing more, you may go.” He nodded and wrung out the cloth, glancing up when he realized Caspar had paused at the door. 

“I think she will be a very good Lady of this house, My Lord. You are a lucky man.” He waited for no response, but stepped out and closed the door behind him. 

Wilhelm resumed his scrubbing, brow knit. It should have made him feel better to know that his dearest friend approved of his bride, but he could not stop that part of him that doubted. An imp in his ear whispering terrible thoughts. _He wants her for himself. He has always wanted her. Now that she is here, he may take her whenever he wishes. You are weak. Worthless. She will see it. She will know. Everyone will know._ He shouted in frustrated anger and threw the washcloth, the fabric splatting against the door that connected to his bedroom, clinging for half a moment then falling with a plop to the floor. It wasn’t the satisfying shatter of a vase or the like, he felt no alleviation to his bad mood, but admittedly it would be far easier to clean up.


	16. Chapter 16

Somewhere, in the depths of the castle, a clock began to chime. It echoed and marked the eleventh hour. One more hour before she had to decide whether she was going to obey her husband, hide in her room, run away entirely, or any other of a dozen plots she had been mulling over since she was deposited in this wing of the castle half a day ago. 

She had been warned of his plan, somewhat. That her husband would await her at the castle but it would be her Lord who rode with her through the gates of the village. Squeezing her eyes shut, she inwardly chastised herself for the hundred-thousandth time for the little flutter that danced through her to recall it. How her blood had heated and raced when he’d pulled her out of the carriage and bound her like a prisoner. His body so close, his breath in her ear and the things he had said! Oh, it was depravity to have felt her body react to such things. How could she face him with her head up knowing that she had wriggled and purred and shamed herself so utterly? She called herself his slave. In the street in front of everyone!

She expected that he would make good on his threats the moment they were alone, but it was as though one body shared two minds. He had said such scandalous things, but in instant Wilhelm shifted from a predatory libertine to Lord of the castle. He took her to her rooms with all proper grace and outward deference then bade her a polite good evening as if he had not, less than a quarter-hour before, been biting at her ear and grinding himself against her like a lustful pup against a slipper.

He had kissed her hand when he left her. Not her lips, not even her cheek, but in his eyes she saw that despite this husbandly gentility, the Lord was there still. She wanted to go, and feared it. Perhaps it was not only Wilhelm who was two minds in one body. Part of her wanted to go to him, to be the prize he’d taken, but part of her knew that to do so would reflect badly. Already she’d made a fool of herself, driven to blushing and breathlessness by his nearness, proving herself to be far too salacious for the title of Lady Wilhelm von Friedrich.

She should be reserved. Cool and placid and unmoved. No passion, not lust or anger or any such fiery-blooded response was appropriate for a Lord’s wife to exhibit. That sort of thing was for his mistress. Used for her body without the honor given a wife, the woman who would bear his heirs. Mothers had, at best, only warmth, never heat. They did not play angels in the nursery and whores in their husband’s beds.

She paced within the suite that had been given to her as her own. The rooms were as different from her husband’s as the sun from the moon. His room was sparsely decorated, all dark wood, heavy stone, and black iron. These rooms were light and airy almost, by compare. The bed and furnishings were polished brass, there were small mirrors all around the room like tiny windows that reflected one another or the actual windows themselves. When it had been daylight, she was certain this room was the brightest in the castle. What was not made of brass was honey-hued oak wood with cushions of soft pink or light lavender. Floral printed bed curtains matched the drapes. Low couches in the sitting room and the bedroom adorned with small embroidered pillows with flounced edges. Everything was delicate and feminine… and wrong. It was if the woman who had decorated this room was trying too hard to make it girly and feminine to counterbalance the overwhelming masculinity of the rest of the castle. She found it a bit like a smile that was too wide. A dessert too sweet to eat without hurting the teeth. With allowance, she would tone it down to something far more simple and reserved. As it was, the room was making her as nervous as the idea of what she was going to have to do far too soon. 

A single chime. A half-hour before midnight. Was it possible to be more nervous now than when she had risked everything sneaking into a stranger’s bed? A last look in the mirror. She had bathed in the adjacent room, her hair washed and braided long before the sun set. The same chemise and dressing gown of wool worn that she’d donned when she had snuck up the Mistress Path. She ought to have explored a bit, found Wilhelm’s so she would not have to walk the halls so visibly. Perhaps, as she thought upon it, it was better that she did not know which room his mistress would eventually occupy. 

“You are being ridiculous. Just go. Sooner begun, sooner done.” She voiced aloud under her breath, pulled her dressing gown closed and walked out of the room before she could give in to cowardice. The hall was dark, and she stumbled a bit, but there was little in the way of decor to trip over, and she had paid special heed to every turn and knew which door was the right one. She lifted her hand to knock, her fist pausing before it made contact. She supposed she could just open the door. There was light coming from beneath it so he was obviously awake. What if he wasn’t alone? What if she opened the door to find him there with some privy council or such, discussing Lordly business and having lost track of the hour? A very quiet tap made with her knuckles, then waiting. The light shuddered and dimmed, token of a shadow blocking it in the moments before the door opened and, with a quick prayer to any benevolent deity paying heed, she stepped inside, flinching only faintly when the door closed behind her. 

Wilhelm was almost sure she would not appear. He’d had all afternoon and evening to weigh what he had done and while he did not wholly regret it, he could not be entirely proud of himself. While it had made him seem the sort of man his father was and no doubt that would please the grumbling mutters of unease that had been brewing since he took the mantle, it had painted his Lady-wife in a far different light than he’d intended when first they married. That she had been far more passionate than he had dreamed was amazing to him, and he wanted to encourage that sensual side of her. Only now did he find himself wishing he had not done so publicly. 

He’d lit several candelabras to ensure the room was well-lit. No dark creeping secret rendezvous this time. He wanted to see her. The golden glow illuminated every corner and made the dark tones seem richer. It was warm, but not overly so, the door to the balcony hung with a tightly woven netting that allowed breezes to drift through but kept the insects from doing the same. She folded her hands before her as she turned to face him, as calm and serene as she had been that fateful morning.

“As you asked, I attend, My Lord.” He noted that her eyes dipped and traveled across him. His doublet had been cast off, as had his boots. He was barefoot in the dark trousers and white shirt he had been wearing since this morning, the laces undone enough that the soft wheat-gold of the hairs upon his chest were visible in the open space. He noted her blush even as she pulled her eyes back up to his and blinked in the show of casualness. “I have done as you requested.”

He blinked slowly, arms rising to cross over the expanse of his chest. “Please, I am anxious to hear.” He was amused at her mercurial nature. How she clung to propriety like a drowning man might a floating bit of wreckage, kicking hard to fight the tide that if she only surrendered to it, would draw her to the safety of shore. 

“You set me to consider what I would have done, had you not been dead drunk, asleep, or otherwise incapacitated. If you were, as you said, a villain.” Taking a casual stroll to give her distance as she spoke. “I imagine I would have waited on the other side of the tapestry in the dark and when I did not hear you snoring, I would have quietly crept back as I had come and spent the night trying to find another way to spare everyone involved the embarrassment and injury that would have come if you and Margareta were forced to wed.” 

He was preparing to argue when the full brunt of what she’d said sank into his mind. “Wait, what tapestry?”

“There is a connecting stairway behind the tapestry in your room. It winds down from the room you were given to my own.” She blushed a bit and shrugged. “It was used by my grandfather so he could visit his leman and not have to be seen doing it publicly.”

That explained much. How she’d vanished from his room with the sheets unseen at least. The idea that there would be such a thing, that she would know not only of its existence but its purpose, made him heartsick. “You were made to sleep in the same room your grandfather kept his mistress?!”

“No, My Lord. _You_ were.” her smile pushed to be only the faintest arch of her lips. “It was long ago, and your bed was not the same they … sported in, if that makes it better.”

He frowned and shook his head, obviously only faintly consoled. “Well, what if I would have heard you, scratching about back there, and investigated?” Even as he spoke he was envisioning it. Creeping to the tapestry, pulling it back and finding the staircase, perhaps even a fleeting glance of her running down it. Prey to be hunted. “Found the stair. Followed it down to your room?” 

“You would have found the door quite securely locked. The doors only lock from Grandfather’s side, after all. It would not do to wake and find your leman in your bed uninvited after all.”

“You are not my leman. You are my wife. There is no time where you are uninvited to my bed.” Closing the distance, he reached up and began to softly tug at the ties that held the collar of her dressing gown closed. He could feel her tension growing, and his own. Peeling back the cloth, he drew a soft breath in sharply, again shocked at the sight of the bruises, now turning a mottled greenish color here and there. The four lines of his fingers, the swath where his thumb had rested, the curved line where the edge of his hand had crushed at her delicate throat. He moved to her again, his hand lifting to lay on the marks, fitting his grip as surely as if it was paint that he’d left behind rather than blood beneath the skin.

“Did you think that I might have killed you before I even knew it was you.” His tone soft and uneasy, his eyes haunted as he held her gingerly. “Woken to find you dead in the bed beside me instead of sitting there, so calm and pristine. So devoid of shame.” His blues rose and met her eyes. “What have I told you is the penalty for allowing what’s mine to come to harm?” 

“I wasn’t yours then.” She shook her head faintly. 

“Oh, but you were. You have always been mine.” The pad of his thumb brushed up and down along her pulse. “Take the robe off.” Stepping back and looking her up and down, making no attempt to hide the lecherousness he was possessed by.

She did not jump to it, but he didn’t expect her to. With trembling fingers, eventually, she continued what he had begun at her neckline. He relished every slither of laces, each tug that loosened the embrace of the heavy woolen gown, the outer shell sliding down to her feet, leaving only the thin chemise beneath that was as the icing on a hot bun, only making what lay beneath look all the tastier under the candlelight. 

“Now your hair.” His voice sounding strange to his own ears. Rough and low. He had wanted to see it loose again. He found the sight of it falling around her unbound highly arousing. 

“My Lord.. please.” She folded her arms across her chest and bowed her head faintly. 

“Do you wish to spend tonight with your Lord, or your husband?” He knew they were one and the same, as did she, but still, he knew she understood what he was really asking. The shock in her eyes as she looked up proved it. He was transfixed by the motion of her tongue, dampening her lips. How he wanted to kiss her. 

“Wilhelm then. I fear it may still be a bit damp, and I have no comb…” 

He shook his head softly and moved to wrap his arms around her, dragging the heavy braid over her shoulder and, his mouth in a firm line, he undid the ties and then with soft flexing fingers, worked the plait loose until her hair fell in waves across her back and shoulders, catching the light with sparks of deep burnished bronze and copper amidst the darkness. He could not help but trail his fingers through it. “You are so lovely…” he murmured as he let his fingers drift away along her jaw. 

She swallowed and nodded faintly. “I am pleased you think so, My L… Wilhelm.” 

He chuckled softly and let his eyes drag down her body, so thinly veiled. “You disagree?” 

“I am not trying to be contrary.” She shook her head again. He could guess that with a sister like Margareta, always the belle of every event, swathed in makeup and fancy gowns, a girl might find herself overshadowed. 

He took her hands and pulled her along a few steps to an armoire, pulling the door open to reveal the mirror within. “Look at yourself.” he positioned her before him, his hands moving down her arms to keep her from covering herself up. The light made her dress nearly translucent, hinted shadows at her breasts and the junction of her thighs and the hollow of her navel. “Have you ever been so naked in a man’s presence?” He felt the whisper of her hair brushing against his chest as she shook her head. “Does it thrill you to know that so very little lies between your naked flesh and my eyes?” He leaned his head to set a whisper to her right ear. “My hands…?” he shifted to the left. “My lips?” He could see her shiver and smiled to himself.

“I am sorry that I am like this.” her head bowed.

“Like this? Do you mean … alive? Vibrant? Beautiful?” She glanced up and he met her eyes in the glass. “That you desire me is not a flaw, Renata. It is a gift.” She gave a small hesitant smile.

His hands moved down her arms, along the front of her hips to rest there and with small scratching drags of his fingers, he began to drag up the hemline of her chemise, his head bent to rest his lips near her ear again. “You have such fine strong legs…” the edge of the cloth brushed over her kneecaps. “Have you thought of me between them?” He felt her gasp and stiffen in panic. “You must be honest. I have not lied about my desire for you, it is foolish for you to do so. Have you imagined it, my pet?”

“Yes.” her voice barely audible. Her hands trembling at her waist, her chemise bunched up at her hips, the tickling hem paused at mid-thigh. 

“Then you should say so.” 

“My Lord?” She looked aghast at what he was implying. 

“Tell me.” his heart hammering against his ribs, his pulse echoed in the hardness that drove him to shift against her faintly in hope of easing the tension there. “No lies. You swore it.”

“I…” She winced faintly, unable to meet his eyes in the glass, her legs trembling. “I want you to spread these legs and be… between them.” It was barely more than a whisper. 

How could she be so tempting and yet radiate such innocence? He dipped further, his hands dropping her chemise to grab her up and turn her so she was cradled in his arms. “Your desire is my own.” Every step felt like torture. He wanted so desperately to take his time, to show her every possible mote of pleasure her body could endure, but that required a measure of patience he did not think possible tonight. Laying her down, he stood by the bed and tugged his shirt off overhead and tossed it behind him even as his knee touched the edge of the mattress. 

“My Lord… the candles.” her eyes seemed to be both drawn to his bare chest and afraid to let her eyes linger too long there. 

“You had your chance to have me in darkness.” A sinful smile as he laid beside her, his hand set on her side. “If you do not like the light, you may close your eyes.” His palm moving upward over her ribcage and with a soft intake of breath, he claimed her breast, the thin linen hardly a barrier to the warmth and softness of it under his fingers. Her own breath was a hissed whimper and her nipple hardened against his palm. He felt a wave of lustful possessiveness, his head bowed, the heat of his mouth raining kisses and suckling pressure against her tender flesh, leaving the cloth damp, transparent, and clinging when his head rose. 

Unconsciously she began a slow grinding wriggle of her hips, her toes digging into the bedding as his attention shifted to the other, his fingers still tweaking and teasing the woken bud beneath the wet cloth. She moaned and he shuddered. The faintest memory, or perhaps a snippet of some heated dream of her beneath him before, it made his need a razor sharp pain. His leg draped across her shin, his weight shifting, his mouth lifted as he groaned and dropped his hands to her knees, pressing her chemise upward as he insinuated himself between them. “I cannot be patient, but I will endeavor to be gentle.” 

The hem rose higher, and he clenched his jaw to stem the urge to swear. The candlelight glinting upon the faint curls of deep chestnut, luxuriant and dewy. His fingertips softly slipping along the crease and feeling her heat and the evidence of her want of him. He lifted his eyes from her sex to her face, reddened and averted, eyes squeezed shut. “You are so very beautiful.” His fingertips slid along the slippery deviation growing slick with her lustful honey. She made a soft desperate sound and covered her mouth. “Does that please you?” She faintly nodded and he nodded back. “It pleases me too. To feel how eager you are. It makes me happy to know I am inspiring such a reaction.” 

“Please…” She whispered as her fingers parted and spread to veil her features. 

“I am trying to please as best I can.” he smirked and shifted his hand, pressing slowly inside of her with the longest of his fingers. He felt her clench against the invasion and nearly ruined himself as a pang of lust shot through his loins. He worked deeper, then withdrew and returned with slow languid stokes. “Tell me if I hurt you.” 

“Yes.” She gasped. “I mean.. Yes I will .. I will tell you if you do.” her voice a gasp as another digit joined the first, driving her to bite her lip.

“Spread your thighs for me, Pet. Give yourself to me.” His eyes unable to rise beyond the sight of her impaled upon his digits. Her legs, shaking, moved further apart and he was too far past sense to think of anything more than the most primal of needs. His fingers withdrew, glinting wetly in the flickering light, and he swiftly undid his breeches, pressing them down enough that he was freed from their confines, painfully turgid as he caressed the dampness along his length before he leaned over her, guiding himself into position. 

“Please! I am afraid.” She looked up at him, eyes wide. 

“Speak ‘hold’.” he knew it would be as near impossible as anything, but he would not have her against her will. “And I will stop.” 

She nodded hesitantly. “I … I am scared, but..” She swallowed and lifted her hips faintly, giving her answer clearly. 

He dipped his hips, feeling her stretch around him, so tight it was closer to agony than bliss for a moment. He drew back, then moved again, another half-inch, feeling her heat radiant against his overwrought _schwanz._ “Do not move… please, I can’t bear it.” He pushed deeper and was now inside her, enveloped and he needed more. He groaned as he took it, each shift of his hips bending her body to fit him, him alone. Forever. Sweat beaded on his brow, his eyes on her face, seeing her myriad emotions so plainly. Fear, nervousness, and yes, pleasure was there, faintly, partnered to need. He felt impediment and she sucked a sharp breath through her teeth. He grew stock still. He could feel the thrum of her heartbeat around him. “Say please…”

She blinked and the blush increased as she dampened her lips. “Please, My Lord?” 

“As you wish. It is too late to beg mercy now.” Had she used his name, he would have sought to be tender. Subconsciously or not, she had chosen to use his title. He shifted on his knees, one hand dipped beneath her thigh and drew her leg against his hip, leaning down across her, his free hand laid over her mouth. “Your Lord has none.” His hips drove forward, her scream muffled and steamy against his palm as he was buried to the hilt within her. She was so snug around him he couldn’t fathom it possible she had taken him at all. “Unh!” He grit his teeth and drew back, every nerve screaming. “Mine. So good... “ He lost himself in the sensation, her wetness, like silk, now held a touch of grit, knowing he had ruined her for any man but himself, he selfishly began to move faster. He dropped his hand from her mouth only to cover it with his own, kissing her deeply, his tongue thrusting as his loins did, growling almost as he braced his palm against the wall above her head, rutting desperately for the few moments his restraint lingered, and then, like a green youth, he felt his end racing up too fast to curtail. 

He broke the kiss, grunting like a beast as he spilled himself, every muscle flexing in the overwhelming waves that left him shaking as he came to himself. She lay beneath him, tears running from her eyes, her lips swollen and reddened from the rough kisses, her hands at her side in balled fists. What had he done? He pulled away and she cried out, her body curling up faintly and he could see the streaks of crimson on the pale ivory of her thighs, marking his bedding, staining his still twitching length. He was overcome with shame. 

“I… I didn’t intend…” his urge to flee was strong, but it would solve nothing. He moved off of her, doing nothing to stop her when she curled away from him, pushing her nightdress down over her naked legs. He stood slowly, still weak in the knees. He took the snuffer and one by one put out each candle until the room was dark. Gently he returned to bed, turning his back toward her and hugging his side of the mattress. He lay awake for an hour, listening to her weeping softly until she cried herself to sleep.


	17. Chapter 17

There was no hazy half-world where dream and consciousness mingled, only a sharp start to full wakefulness. She didn't feel confused or hazy. Though unfamiliar, she knew exactly where she was. She was in her husband's room, her husband's bed. 

She sat up gingerly, wincing at the twinge that wasn't required to remind her what she had done last night. Looking around, she wasn't sure if the fact she woke alone was comforting or troubling. Though the drapes were heavy she could tell it was well into the morning. It was sensible that now he had returned there would be things he had to attend to? What did she expect, sweet embraces and poetry? 

She had been overwhelmed, afraid, unsure. He had, as he hinted, occupied the role of the predatory villain and had taken what was his due. She expected the pain, but not what followed. When the sting ebbed, a liquid heat replaced it, flowing outward, each thrust seeming to wake some desperate need. A hunger that scared her far more than he ever could.

His face swam in her memory. Every feeling she was suffering was mirrored in his eyes, the same desperation and need etched in every facet of his countenance. Then he had kissed her, a ravenous voracity shared and all she wanted was to wrap her arms and legs around him, beg without words for more of what every motion stoked within her. It was so difficult to control herself. She had to grip at the bedding, making white-knuckled fists at her side to keep her hands to herself. Tears spawned by the nearly intolerable sensation of having to lie still and not show how he was turning her thoughts to luxuriant carnality. 

The end had come too quickly, her body alight with tension and flame. She couldn’t process the profusion of feelings, both physical and emotional. Loss, shame, need, sadness, passion, guilt, it was like an ocean crashing over her, and she wept like a child, unable to find the surface. She was faintly aware of the room growing darker, felt the bed shift faintly, stiffened in fear he’d touch her and she’d break apart into a thousand bits. She lay on tenterhooks for what seemed forever, but no touch came and she mourned anew. Somehow, she slipped to dreamless slumber, her last conscious thought that she had been nothing but a disappointment to him. 

She exhaled sharply. It was nothing she could change now. She rose and collected her discarded dressing gown from where it had been laid across the back of a chair, tying it securely and squaring her shoulders to face the walk back to her own room. She expected the halls to be bustling with servants, their whispers following in her wake. To be moving through the halls in her night clothes at this hour, having been abandoned by her husband, but there was no one about. She made it to her room and never heard nor saw a soul. 

A long bath, her hair tightly braided, her scalp throbbing under the security of her wimple, determined to give no reason that she be judged as great a failure in her other duties as she’d been last night. She rang at last, and the maid they had foisted upon her was at the door in less than a minute, looking shocked and apologetic to see her mistress there, dressed for her day without her aid. 

“M’lady! I … I did not know you were awake. Why did you not ring for me sooner, no…” she blushed. “Forgive me. I should have been more watchful.” 

“I lived all my life without a personal maid, Lucinda.” She offered a small smile. “I am afraid that I was halfway dressed before I recalled I now have one. I look forward to learning to surrender a bit of my stubbornness if you will be kind enough to be patient with me.” 

“Oh, of course, m’lady.” She dipped into a curtsy. “What may I do for you?”

She thought of asking where Wilhelm had gone, but his business was his own. She would do best to get the house in hand. “My list is very expansive. First, I would like you to show me to whichever room the household books are kept. I should like to look them over. Alert all the servants that, when they are not too occupied with their work, I would like them to come so I may put names to faces. Then, this afternoon, I intend to learn as much of the house as I am able.” 

“Of… of course, M’lady, if that is your wish.” 

She could see the other woman’s face grow ever more concerned and she guessed the reason. It was a lot to attempt in a single day. Still, she had to _do_ something. Sitting about idle was not in her nature. When Lucinda stepped away, she followed. Her dress was the same simple emerald and ivory she had worn to greet Lord von Freidrich upon his arrival at her father’s manor, though it now lacked the belt and keys, as she had left the latter behind her and had not acquired the keys to the locks of Ravenswood as of yet. 

She spent an hour with the books, finding them a bit slapdash, but not impossible to follow. They were slightly different in organization than her own preferred way of tallying, but she’d learn the new way easily enough. These lands seemed to be more suited to root vegetables, nuts and grapes and orchards of all manner of fruit unlike home and the wide fields of wheat and rye. She would make time tomorrow perhaps to learn more of these products. What made them thrive and what caused a bad year. 

She met with the housekeeper, a squat sort of woman who might have had a dwarven branch on her family tree. She was taciturn and watched every move made with a slightly narrowed gaze. It had been a tough go, but Renata managed to learn that she had been keeping the house since Lord Gebhard von Freidrich, Wilhelm’s grandfather, had been the Lord of Ravenswood. She did not much care for change, nor, it seemed, her new Lady. Renata got the idea, by the time they had concluded their conversation, that Utta thought all Ladies were spoiled and uninterested in anything beyond the ends of their fingers. She hoped to change her mind before too long. 

The cook was a woman not so very much older than Wilhelm, the apprentice taken over only two years ago from her departed Auntie who’d been cook to the family her whole life. She seemed to be happy to share recipes and give a bit of insight as to what Fredrich liked to eat. That he was not one for sweets wasn’t a surprise. She could not see him, even as a boy, being one of those who would be caught sneaking cookies or cakes. He liked, she learned, simple fare and would go days without eating more than an apple or a bit of dried beef if he wasn’t watched. 

The other servants, both indoors and out one by one made their introductions and then taught her about their own area of expertise. She inspected every room of the castle from the root cellar to the attic as well as the grounds, making small notes here and there on changes she would ask Wilhelm about making. Nothing drastic. Her rooms, obviously, but also a glazier would need to be called about the windows in the conservatory, as the panes had begun to loosen, leading to a small whistle when the wind lifted. The kitchen could use a new coat of paint to the beams and perhaps a new worktable better suited to the new cook’s four inch greater height than her aunt’s. 

Outside, it was likewise in need of a bit of attention. There was a pool that was terribly overgrown with weeds, the water green and stagnant. The gardens were let get unkempt and wild, and there were a few missing or broken cobblestones in the courtyard. The stables were fine, though she did note a few damp places that hinted a check of the roof was in order. The smokehouse was without flaw, as was the ice house, since both were fairly new additions. The only other building in the castle’s grounds was a small temple. The interior was bare save for a small altar and a single bench. It smelled of incense and was, despite the return of the sun’s sweltering presence, cool and shady. Though she had never been one to follow the Matron of Ravens, she had to admit it felt restive and peaceful inside and she was tempted to linger in the dark and quiet. 

“Is everything alright, My Lady?” 

She turned and after the moment it took to register the shadow in the doorway as her husband’s friend and valet, she chuckled and nodded. “Indeed, Sir. I am merely attempting to learn my new home well enough to be of use.”

“I recall how well you handled your father’s home. I have no doubt you will do equally well here, My Lady, if not better.” He stepped back so not to block her in, and fell into step just behind her and to her left as she walked back toward the house. “There you were the chatelaine, but here you are the mistress of all and can do as you like.”

“Ah, were it but so.” She gave a slightly melodramatic sort of sigh. “I must ask for permission to even change my curtains.” A slight smile to prove she was not truly complaining. “Much less the list I have built today. I hope I may see my husband within the week to make inquiries.” 

“The week?” Caspar sounded quite confused. “You hope?” He had stopped, but walked quickly to make up the deficit. “My Lady, do you not expect to see him more often?”

It was her turn to stop, turning to look at him. “My Lord must surely be a busy man. My reasons to disturb him are silly and inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. He has a village to oversee, farmers and merchants and gentry, all of whom no doubt have far greater need of him than I. What sort of woman do you take me for?” Another smile offered, though tempered with bemusement. 

“I …” he huffed softly through his nose, his knit brow smoothing as he pressed a smile back into place himself. “I imagined you were his wife, My Lady. That as such, no other could demand a greater sway on his attention. I know him well enough to believe he shares my opinion.” 

_Then why did he leave me alone?_ She instantly thought, but did not speak. “I hope it may be so, Sir.” Her mind turned back and she looked up at him with a sudden realization. “You are Caspar.” 

His mood, which seemed to have been a little shadowed by the topic of conversation shifted to surprised but wary amusement at that proclamation. “Indeed, My Lady, that is my name.” 

“My Lord von Friedrich said on our journey here that you were the one to speak to about the staff here. I have met many, but I would ask your opinions, if you’ve time to help me, in learning how I might best handle this transitional period.” 

He studied her for a moment, something she recalled him doing each time they had spoken in the past. She took it as his natural habit and only felt a bit like a bug under a spying glass. 

“My Lord has gone to fetch his brother, so you may consider me yours to do with as you please, My Lady.” 

“Which one?” She asked without thinking. “No, never mind, forgive me. It is not my business.” A bow of her head as she slowly began her walk back toward the main doors. “My business is the household, and that is what we should speak on.” Flipping through the pages of notes she had made. “Will you tell me of the last Lady of Ravenswood? What her ways were, so I may emulate them and assure the staff does not have to change too much the way things are done here?”

“My Lady…” He began, then, in a lighter tone, resumed. “I will tell you whatever I can to be of service.” 

They adjourned to a small sitting room just off of the library and he had tea and some sweet buns brought. She ate as delicately as she could, but the lack of appetite she’d had on her journey was gone and she’d have gladly emptied the plate by herself. She listened as he told her about the former women who had held the keys to this house and she began to understand just how difficult her job was going to be. 

Before her, the Lady of the house was Wilhelm’s sister Brigitta. She had become Lady of Ravenswood upon the death of their parents. She had been a very young woman then, only fifteen, and she simply let her mother’s rules remain in place and trusted the running of the household to the servants just doing what they had always done. 

“She was not like you, My Lady. She was delicate and soft.” he looked up with a small gasp. “Not that you are indelicate, My Lady!” 

Renata raised a hand and shook her head. “I understand, Sir. Please, go on.” 

“She was tender and meek and, forgive me, spoiled in many ways. She was not forced to do anything she did not find enjoyable you see. She never gained…” He seemed to be searching for an appropriate word. 

“Calluses?” Offered helpfully. “Metaphorical ones I mean” 

“Precisely, My Lady. She was ill prepared for hardship.” He bowed his head and stared at his hands, linked atop his knees.

 _He had been in love with her._ The thought came unbidden, but she could see it plainly now. “I have heard what happened. I am sorry for your loss.” 

“She was so happy. Lord Dunstan was much like her father. A man who thrived in conflict. His family kept the Julous Dominion at bay for decades. He was handsome and formidable. She was like a child in that perhaps. Like a little girl looks up to her father as some… unbreakable fortress who will keep her safe always. “ Bitterness and sorrow woven under his words. “He failed as her father did. By thinking all enemies would face them honorably. It took, I am told, only a handful of men to slay seventeen people and wound dozens more in less time than it takes to cook an egg.” He looked up at her. “Wilhelm and I arrived too late. I do not know even now if I am glad of it, or ashamed. My mind knows there is nothing we could have done. We would have been killed too, no doubt, but … part of me still wears that wound of ‘what if?’ and I cannot forgive myself that I could do nothing to save them.” 

She could not imagine such pain. Her own woes seemed so paltry in comparison. “We are born with our eyes in the front of our heads for a reason. To look ahead, not back. If you spend too long looking at what has passed, you will not see what is coming. You must mourn, Sir. Suffer your time under that yoke of regret, then, for your own health, you must move forward without it weighing you down. There was nothing you could have done, nor My Lord von Friedrich, to have stopped such a thing. It is selfish of me to say, but when you begin to feel you did not save them, remind yourself that you did save _him_. A boon for which I can never repay you.” 

He once again was giving her that studious look and she feared she might have offended him. She was too prone to say what she thought and only afterward, think of the consequences. To backpedal now would only make it worse, so she offered him a half-smile of support, to show she had not meant her words to be anything but helpful. 

“I will consider that, My Lady.” He bowed his head faintly, then with a soft breath through pursed lips, he sat straighter and took his teacup back in hand. “Their mother, Frida, was Lady here for most of my life. She was … “ he smiled to himself. “She was not like Brigitta, but neither was she like you, My Lady. She was like Wil. She plotted.” He chuckled. “In the best meaning of the word. Lord Othmar, third Lord von Friedrich…” he said it with a slightly overpompous tone that made her believe such was how the man always introduced himself. “... Always believed that every single decision in this house was his idea. She had a way of knowing where his weak moments were, and taking advantage of them to get her way. She was a kind woman, but always watchful. She took weekly meetings with the heads of the servants, but she never truly saw them as people, I don’t think. They were like her husband’s soldiers. Trained bodies to follow orders and beyond that… they had no purpose.” 

“How then, may I ask, did the current Lord Freidrich learn to behave so opposite? I noted it nearly instantly when you arrived at the manor. He treated everyone, servant or Lord, alike.” 

A sage nod. “My Lady you think his actions are an elevation of his esteem of the lower classes. I assure you it is merely that he pushes the upper downward.” There was no venom in his words, only a truthfulness. “He is a difficult man, My Lady, and I do not envy you.” He took a sip of the tea and then set the cup down on the table between them. “As for the staff, I would advise you to be yourself. Do what you think best. Do not be afraid to put your foot down when needed. You are clever, My Lady, and able. They will respect you if you are honest with them.” Rising from his seat he smoothed his doublet and offered her a polite bow of his head. “The hour is growing late, and I surmise that I will be needed to help His Lordship prepare for dinner. No doubt you wish to do the same?” 

She glanced down, noting that she had bits of leaf from the gardens, smudges of dust and dirt from her walk, even a strand or two of stable straw sticking out of her surcoat. “Yes, I should do that. Thank you, Sir, for your time and your advice.” 

“I am only too happy to have been of service, My Lady.” A courtly bow and he moved toward the door and exited. She tidied the tea, putting all the cups back on the tray and wiping up the crumbs as best she could before she too rose and hurried to her room to ready herself for dinner. Wilhelm had gone to fetch his brother and whichever one he’d brought, she wished to make a good impression.


	18. Chapter 18

He had just sent Matty to his rooms, and was preparing to seek out his wife. He had woken early. He had dreamed all night of her. Of what had happened, the dreams twisting to make it, at first, far more pleasurable. She was willing and eager and begged him to touch and kiss and fill her. He was only too happy to. Never had he felt so whole as the moment he was within her. He craved her like a drug, and once he’d tasted her he knew he was addicted. The dreams shifted, he saw her tears, her wide and fearful eyes, her pain as he abused her. Took her against her will, an act which he had done with not only ease, but with joy. Never had he felt such ecstasy as he felt when he poured out his lust into her. Never had he felt such revulsion as the instant after. 

In her slumber, she was peaceful, but he could see the faint tracks of the tears she had shed, the dark stain on her pristine gown that marked her now as a maiden no more. What had he done? He felt sickened to lie there, so near to her, sharing warmth he had no right to. Feeling his loins stirring despite his wishes otherwise. With self-directed hatred he rose and left her there to sleep unmolested, banishing himself to his bathing room. 

He washed, not bothering to heat the icy well water, his skin bloodless and numb when he’d concluded but his ardor diminished. How could he face her now? Part of him brought up memories of things she had said, of dreaming of his kiss and his touch. He had told her to speak ‘hold’ and she did not. She had courted his lust, he was certain, but all he could see in his mind’s eye was the look on her face when he was rutting atop her. His hand over her mouth to stifle her screaming, her wide eyes filled with terror and tears. Even now, amidst the horror, he recalled how powerful he had felt. The dominant conqueror taking whatever pleased him. How proud his father would be. 

His morning did not improve. After ringing for Caspar, he was met with still more bad news. Matthias was in Druvenlode. In jail. Again. By the time the sun was fully risen, he was riding for the town, his sour mood like a bad taste in his mouth he could not wash away. Each mile occupied by thoughts of regret. Then, after a dozen miles more, his mind turned on how to proceed. What he would do to make things, if not right, then tolerable. He was, by the time he reached the edges of Druvenlode’s outlying lands, glad of this distraction. Coward that he was, he had been afraid of facing his wife and though he was not happy that he had to go fetch his brother yet again, he was thankful he would have some time to think of how to mend what he’d destroyed. 

Druvenlode was a mining town built against the mountains of the Silberquel Ridge. Dark smoke hung over the tall stone buildings across the city, but nowhere more than those that made up the Crucible District, where a portion of the city’s mined ore was made into steel, and still more was made into pig iron to be shipped and sold to craftsmen elsewhere. It was always hot here, even in winter, and now, with summer upon them, it was stifling. 

The jail was built into the mountain itself on the far edge. Whether it was called The Crucible after the district, the smelting furnace, or the metaphor of being transformed through fire… he did not know. He had been here twice before, and he knew that whatever Matthias had done, it was going to be more expensive and more dangerous to get him free of it than it had been the last time. 

Within the Crucible was shadow, even in the middle of the day, lit by small magical spheres that gave off no heat and not a great deal of light. Once his eyes had better adjusted, he could better see the layout, though he was familiar with it by now. The room, perhaps only twenty feet in depth, was cut in half by the long counter. From it long bars of steel rose up, leaving only a small window space at the center. A squeaking sound filled the room, made by a system of belts and pulleys that turned a pair of fans in never-ending circling above their heads. The Kingsmen, though of all genders and races, were the enforcers of law in the Truscan Empire. Nowhere were they more humorless and iron-necked than in Druvenlode. 

“State yer business.” A clipped-voiced dwarf addressed him from behind a long counter that transected the small entrance chamber.

“I have come to speak on the release of Matthias von Friedrich.” Wilhelm drew himself up and attempted to look disdainful, put out, and without patience. It was stunningly easy to accomplish. 

“Ah, I’ll fetch the Kommissar then.” He hopped down from whatever he’d been standing on to reach above the counter and vanished through a door at the back of the room. A few minutes passed before Kommissar Kurt Rühl, a human of perhaps his mid-forties, began his approach. 

“Lord von Friedrich. I am sorry to see you here again.” His face pockmarked and rough beneath a beard of deep brown, sweat beading on his rapidly balding head. “Come, we should speak in my office.” A gesture and the dwarf opened the iron door and Wilhelm stepped inside, hands clasping at his back. The office of the Kommissar was not fancy or large, but being built into the mountain it was cool and better lit than the outer waiting area. 

Settling behind his desk, Rühl set his hands together before his lips. “It is, I am sorry to say, far worse than the last time.” He sighed. “He was fairly badly injured.” A hand rose to stop any questions. “Our healers have taken care of it, and he is now none the worse for wear, but it cannot happen again.” 

“What happened, precisely?” Wilhelm was in no mood for this when he’d thought it just another ‘drunk and disorderly’ infraction, as usual. 

“You know your brother is a common visitor to The Street of Lanterns, specifically The Garden.”

The Street of Lanterns was at the far southern side of town, a long road where the color of the lamps in the windows was code for what you could find within depending on your preferences. The Garden was a fairly upscale house where every lady was named for a different flower. It had been a long time since he’d been there himself, but he knew the place. 

“Your brother has developed a rather ungentlemanly ken for a girl there called Lily. Last night, it seems, he came in to find her in the lap of another man. Witnesses testified that he sat, brooding, for around a half of an hour drinking heavily, before he made his way over to the couple, pulled her from the man’s lap, and then punched him in the face. The man, not knowing how drunk your brother was, swung back and in the heat of the moment, accepted the challenge to take it outside and let their swords decide.” 

Rühl shook his head and made a ‘tsk’ sound as he sat back in his chair. “This other man realized very quickly that your brother was too drunk and did his best to dissuade him, but he was too far gone. Whatever training he might have had in his short time in the military was smothered in firewhisky and his opponent was both sober and a former Kingsman from Odessloe. Despite his intoxication, your brother was, by all accounts, determined. This man swung and cut his arm badly. It was more accident than intention, but it served to end the fight and make your brother drop his sword. We came not long after and … the man chose not to press any charges.” 

“I am glad to know.” Wilhelm was fit to snap like a dry twig under the force keeping his temper in check. “If there are no charges, I may assume…” 

“Oh, there are charges. The lady in question was bruised a bit, and The Garden lost customers due to the fight in the street outside. They are very serious about your brother never being allowed within a mile of that establishment. The other houses are in agreement. He cost them all. Not to mention the cost of having to rouse a healer and keep him from bleeding to death in the street.” 

“I understand.” Wilhelm rose and gave a polite nod to the Kommissar. “I will go and speak to the parties, if you have a list perhaps?”

“Croger will see that you get it, Lord von Freidrich. I look forward to your return.” 

The list of aggrieved parties was lengthy. It took most of his day to visit each house on the Street of Lanterns and pay restitution. He knew it was done to make a point more than anything else. Fluer De Mauvais, the madam of The Garden, was unfamiliar to him. He was not surprised as many women had worn that name over the years. It took double the price he’d paid at any other house, plus two platinum before he was able to leave with a satisfying resolution. The girl called Lily with whom his brother was obsessed was to be on the next caravan to the Menagerie Coast where she could be set up in a house which Fluer knew of old. The rumor would be spread that she had killed herself because she feared Matthias would never stop pursuing her otherwise.

The coin he spent on the Street of Lanterns was far easier to bear than the payment to the cleric of Pelor who spent a quarter-hour proselytizing about the bitter fruits born of a wastrel life of women and liquor. In the end, all of the parties signed the paper stating they had accepted his coin in lieu of their day in court. With it in hand he could not trade it for the release of his baby brother. 

Matthias had been a surprise to everyone. Constantin had been as normal a birth as any. Bertram, coming next, was a small, sickly baby born too early. His bassinet was a tiny coffin, as it was expected he would never outgrow it. He survived but never thrived in the way his brother did. He was consecrated to the Matron of Ravens when he was three and sent to her temple in Rexxentrum to be raised by her priests. Coming a year later, Wilhelm was thankfully a hale and hearty child. Two years passed and his sister Brigitta came. The birth was difficult and their mother nearly died. His parents, it seemed, made the choice to not risk any more children as a decade passed without any further siblings. It was a great surprise to all when, just after Constantin's eleventh birthday, his mother announced she was expanding. The following summer, Matthius was born, and despite her age, the Lady came through it without trouble, both of them strong and healthy. 

Everyone had such adoration for the boy, and Wilhelm was no exception. Still, he could not indulge him any longer. He was a man now. It must be made clear to him that he was on his own if this happened again. Matthias was dour and brooding when they brought him out. His shirt was missing the sleeve, and though his skin was unmarred, the blood still stained his clothing. Wordlessly, he paid the remainder of the fees to the dwarf, to cover the room, the food, the blanket charges, and then lead his brother out into the street, a hand securely resting on the back of his still-covered arm. He did not speak to him until he was inside the carriage and even then it was Matthias who spoke first.

“Please spare me the usual castigation, Wil.” Sitting back in the corner of the seat, his foot on the bench, his arms crossed as he glowered. “I am a grown man, and I did not ask you to come for me. I could handle it myself.” 

Wilhelm watched with an outward placid calm he did not feel. “Oh? Well then do tell me how you would have handled it yourself.” 

“I would have faced the judge when my case came up. I would have told him the truth. That some bastard was trying to molest the woman I love. That she was forced by the sad state of her occupation to feign interest and that, in order to save her, I challenged him to a duel. That I allowed him to think he had won was to spare the city the trouble of burying the son of a bitch. Then, when the court understood that what I did, I did for love, they would let me go and Lily and I could be happy again.” 

“She is dead.” He said with a coldness that he knew would cut deep. “Being forced to go pay for your bar bills and broken lamps in the past was bad enough, Matthias. Having to pay for some whore’s funeral expenses… it is beneath me.” 

Matty grew pale, sitting up, shaking his head as he looked as if he might throw up. “No. No, you’re lying.” 

“Believe what you will. I am sure you will go back despite the fact you are banned from the Street of Lanterns, and when you do, you will hear the same thing. Her madam found her this morning, dead by her own hand. Her note said that she was afraid of you. That she had grown to despise the thought of you but you would not let her go no matter how she begged. That the only way to escape you was death.” He forced himself to show no mercy, nor any hint of untruth. Again, he was falling so easily into the skin of a villain. “How many more lives will your stupidity cost the world?”

Matthias sprang for the door, jumping out and tumbling into the roadside, his stomach giving up the whole of its contents as he purged and sobbed. The carriage slowed and stopped, and Wilhelm walked back to stand nearby. “I am sorry. I was angry and perhaps I could have told you more … gently.”

“How could she do that? I loved her so much!” he shook his head, bereft. “I was going to take her away from there and I … I thought she felt the same. She said so. She…” he seemed to be unwillingly recalling things. Hints she’d given, changes in her behavior that nourished the seed which Wilhelm had planted. “She _was_ a bit distant the last few times I came to visit her. She … she didn’t seem unhappy in his lap, she seemed to … “ he shook his head, frowning. “You’re right. She was nothing but a whore. I was stupid.” He looked up, rising with self-righteous anger radiating. “You may be assured I will not make that mistake again.” Stalking back to the carriage with his fists at his side. 

Wilhelm sighed. It had worked, but at what cost? He joined Matthias and they were off again, riding on in silence marked only by the occasional angry muttering from Matthias’ side of the carriage. 

“When we arrive, I expect you to clean yourself up and be presentable for dinner. I will not have my wife forced to deal with a petulant child.” His chiding ended with a half-smile as a thought came to his mind and slipped out before he could stop it. “Not until we have one of our own anyway.” 

“Oh yes. I had forgotten it was this month you were being forced to the yoke.” he chuckled. “Is she as beautiful as they say, your new Lady?”

“She is …” he found himself with too much to say and no idea how to say it. “She is not the lady you are thinking of.”

“What? Did something happen to your intended?”

Wilhelm was about to tell him the whole truth, but knew that would besmirch Margareta and thus make Renata unhappy. “She was not for me. I did, however, find a bride in Yrrosa who unexpectedly served to satisfy.” 

“I’ll bet.” Matthias gave a sly smile, obviously taking the path of salaciousness. 

“You will not speak of my wife in such a way.” Wilhelm growled. “She is not only your new sister but the Lady of Ravenswood, not one of your back alley whores.” 

Visibly shocked at the sudden bite, Matthias sank back into his brooding. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m sure she’s lovely.” Grumbled as silence again rose to hold sway. 

Wilhelm wanted to apologize but held his tongue. It had been more vociferous than intended, but the defense of his lady’s honor was nothing to be sorry for. Another half-hour passed before the quiet was broken. 

“It isn’t as if you don’t have plenty of whores in _your_ past, Wil. “If it wasn’t for whores you’d be dead, right? Were you not drunk in some brothel when Mother and Father and I were lying at home dying, only managing to drag yourself out of the bottle long enough to come see them burned? Were you not up some slut’s skirts when Constantin and Brigitta and Lord Dunstan and poor little Wendall… were slaughtered in front of me? You have no right to judge me for what you wallowed in for years!”

“You have no idea what it was like, Matty! Constantin was the perfect son. Father’s very image. When Bertram was born deficient, he was already disappointed and I did **nothing** to prove I was not just as worthless to him. A failure as a soldier, a failure as a son, he made my life hell! I had to get out of there. When he died, I thought I might come back. Might find some hope of family. But no… Constantin was just as bad as him. Nothing but snide jabs and insults no matter how hard I tried. So yes, I left, Matthias. I regret it now. I didn’t have an older brother who cared enough to tell me I was wrong. That I was his family. That I was worth something.” 

The silence after was tense for several minutes. Wilhelm broke it this time. “I have not, I admit, given the proper consideration to how it must have been for you. To have been here when every tragedy struck. To have to live with those memories.” He sighed gently. “I wish it could have been different, for both of us. It was what it was though, and we must move on with some semblance of pride. I am doing what I can to make things in Ravenswood better, but I cannot do it alone. You deserve a better life than I had at your age.” 

Matthias simply nodded once and sank back into sullen silence. When they arrived at the castle, he bolted and went directly toward his room. Wilhelm could only shake his head. Had he ever really been that young and foolish? He heard a door and turned to spy Caspar leaving the sitting room. He was preparing to call out and gain his attention when the figure of his wife appeared in the door, then with a bowed head, hurried toward her room looking guilty and furtive. 

Why had they been alone together? He instantly recalled last night, when Caspar had called him a lucky man. It hadn’t been the words, it had been the tone. There was longing in it. After last night, it would be only too easy for Caspar to unleash the silver tongue that had his lap always filled and his name a purr on the lips of every trollop in Rexxentrum. He would, no doubt, play the gentle and understanding shoulder to cry upon. So consoling. A trap of silk to ensnare a wounded dove. 

He could almost see it. She was on the sofa, tears making her eyes limpid as a doe, his hands taking hers, his voice soft so she was forced to lean closer to hear him. _“You are terribly abused, aren’t you? He is cruel and heartless and undeserving of you. Let me show you gentleness and how pleasant a man’s touch can be.”_ Feigning shyness, reticence, shame but always making her feel if she were the one hurting him with her refusal if she attempted to stop him. It would begin with a brush of fingers on her cheek, a petting caress of his knuckles across her arm, standing too close, looks that lingered and bore weight, a kiss on her hand. Soon he would risk a peck to her cheek. He’d be heartsick, of course, and his self-flagellation would make her feel cruel if she did not say it was nothing to worry over, that it was fine. He would bring her small intimate gifts that spoke to knowing her better than her husband ever could. Sharing private jokes, Caspar listening without interruption to every tear and every complaint, sewing seeds of doubt in her until she succumbed and was swept away to his bed. 

A deep breath taken, burning with guilt for distrusting his friend so. Marrying her had been Caspar’s idea after all. It was Caspar who figured the addendum, made it the sensible choice for her father. Without the alliance in the balance, Lord Rosenfeld would surely have never… let her… go. An iron-heavy weight settled in Wilhelm’s stomach. The only way Caspar could get his hands on Renata was to use him. Like those boys who, when denied service at a tavern, sent in an old drunk to buy a bottle and then stole it from him when he came out. Once she was here, then he could woo her at his leisure. Caspar had never flinched from taking a woman to his bed just because she had been Wilhelm’s first. 

He saw crimson, knew that if Caspar appeared, he would throttle him dead. He retreated to his father’s chamber and remained there until he had drawn tight the seal over his feelings. Only when he was sure he could suffer Caspar’s nearness without murdering him did he deign to return to his room and dress for dinner.


	19. Chapter 19

It was not one of the challenges she had foreseen. All her life she had attended herself, washed and brushed her own hair, dressed herself, kept her own room tidy. Now, as Lady Wilhelm von Freidrich, she was forced to accept those days were behind her. Her maid, Lucinda, had been an apprentice to Cora, the maid who had attended the former two Ladies of the household. It was considered to her a position of honor to be the one who cared for the new one, or so she said. 

She was efficient and quiet, a little nervous, but then so was her mistress. Renata sat in front of the glass, her reflection somehow both herself and someone new. Lucinda was a talent in dressing hair, the usual hasty braid to keep it out of her eyes while she went about her day was now a tumble of curls and waves that were swept upward and then allowed to spill pell-mell along her back and shoulders. 

"It is beautiful, Lucinda, but I am a married woman. It is not right to show my hair in public, much less to make it so... attractive to the eye." 

"If you wish me to undo it, M'lady, I will." The disappointment was evident in her voice. 

"I mean, it is not as if I am at one of the court’s balls, seeking to lure a husband, I have one. There is little reason to bait a hook with a fish already on it." A slight chuckle that held no humor. It was something she had heard once at a festival and it had stuck in her head. 

"M'lady, I ..." 

Lucinda’s face was uneasy in the glass. Renata knew she was too familiar, that a servant was happier when there was a line between maid and Mistress, but she could not help herself. "Please, Lucinda, speak what troubles you." Offering an encouraging half smile. 

"M’lady, it is my opinion that a woman must always renew the bait. A fish will quickly fight its way free of the hook if there is no temptation to swallow it." 

Renata frowned a bit, but it wasn't anger, it was merely being forced to admit the woman was likely right. She had watched her mother's marriage in her youth. It had been friendly and passionless. Last night made it quite clear that a marriage devoid of passion was not in the cards for her. What if Wilhelm grew bored and she was left alone to languish, condemned to never feel that frightening but exhilarating feeling of being someone’s lover. It would be like slowly starving while watching a feast in another room. 

"I'm sorry, M'lady. I didn't mean to overspeak." Lucinda’s voice quavering with fear.

"No, you have a point, Lucinda." Turning back to the glass she eyed herself again. "Perhaps something between my usual and this?" 

"Of course, M'lady!" A smile returned to her face and a quarter-hour later, Lucinda had finished. The riot had been dimmed to murmur. The deep brown strands pulled away from her face and loosely plaited across the top of her scalp and down her back. It was, she had to admit, the sort of thing that seemed almost undone, but not quite. The hairdo equal to a naked body under a thin sheet. It begged to be ruined. 

Renata had few choices when it came to clothes, and wanted to make a good impression. In the end, she chose a dress he had not seen her in, though it was not her finest. The gown was a muted brocade of deep mauve and darker wine with laces of black running over the sides of her waist and down her back so there was no curve it did not highlight. It skimmed her shoulders and left her throat bare, which was problematic as it was still marred by the fading eggplant-hued mark of her husband's handprint. 

"M'lady... please wait here a moment." Lucinda looked nervous as, with a bite of her lip, she turned and went to a drawer in the armoire at the wall. She returned a few minutes later with a flat wooden box. "This was Lady Othmar's." Opening the box a necklace was withdrawn. It seemed to be made of a hundred tiny gold chains, linked together in rows that, for the first forty or so were short and closely kept, like a collar made of glinting strands, then each grew longer, dipped lower, the last hung with some sort of deep yellow gemstone. 

She was chilled by its touch, the chains snug but not choking as they encircled her neck, covering the bruise well and draping in swaths of gold across her breastbone. It was truly beautiful, but she couldn't imagine that it would go over well. Wilhelm didn't seem to like reminders of the past, or anyone touching his family's things. To be fair, however, it was in the room he said was hers now. Did he not then mean that everything here was hers to use?” 

“Thank you, Lucinda.” She ran her fingertips across the chains after they’d been fastened securely. She stepped into her slippers and took a deep breath, determination winning out over doubt. "I shouldn't need you until morning, Lucinda. Your night is your own." 

“Good night, M’lady.” She bowed her head as she stepped out of the room. Renata stood a few minutes more, trying to run through every possible path that tonight might take so she wouldn’t feel so off-footed, but in the end that only made her more nervous, so without allowing herself another second to hide, she walked out and made her way down to the dining room. 

The first thing she noted as she entered was that the seat at the head of the table was empty. She didn't know if the feeling was disappointment or annoyance that he wasn't there. Had she been so late that he’d eaten and gone already? 

"Gut eef-en-ing." A muttered greeting through a full mouth prompting her to turn and catch sight of a younger man, dark-eyed but blonde like Wilhelm, half a buttered roll in his hand, the other half being rapidly chewed and swallowed. "Forgive me." He spoke when his mouth was emptied, his eyes moving over her with scrutiny for several seconds. "You _are_ Lady Wilhelm, yes?"

"I am she." A small chuckle as she bowed her head. "I suppose you are My Lord's brother Matthias. I was told his brother was coming to dine, but not which one to expect." 

"Well, be glad it's me. Bert is dreadful at dinners. Dreary and dull as a tomb." He stepped to the table and drew out a chair for her. She settled as daintily as she could and he moved to sit nearby. 

"I expect to be content in the life he has chosen one must possess a rather unique personality. A sober nature would be a very great gift to someone in his line of work. No one wants a clown at their pyre." 

"I suppose that's true. Still, he's a right prig. I'm convinced I am much better company." He grinned and took another, albeit smaller, bite of his bread. "Where's Wil?"

"I have not seen him today. I would expect he will be here presently." She tried to make her tone seem light and not carry any of the emotion she was feeling within. He was giving her an odd look, so she put on a smile and sat straighter in her chair. "Before he comes, may I press you for some idle tale? Some story of his younger days when he was not so ... Lordly?" 

"Oh, well, I'm much younger than Wil. By the time I was old enough to remember him, he was gone off to Rexxentrum with Caspar." There was a mote of bitterness there and she noted it. "Rumor though was that he wasn't being very lordly there. Lots of wine and whor..." He paused and frowned. "I'm sorry. I did not mean to be offensive." 

"Forgiven." She chuckled under her breath. "I am aware of the existence of such women, and their part in the tales of many well-born men’s wilder youths. Tell me of yourself then. Of growing up here. Of the village. Anything. I feel such a stranger here that even someone else’s memories might make it feel less so." A slight shrug of apology for her curiosity lifting her shoulders and marking her features. 

“Um, sure. Let’s see. This place isn’t as bad as it seems. You just need to get used to it. Hmm. Where to begin..” Matthias started slowly, but after a few minutes had found a good pace, telling tales of his own youth. Playing games of hide and seek, of catching frogs in the pond, and an old servant named Billit who he'd taken too much pleasure in tormenting with practical jokes. They were both laughing as Matthias was finishing the story about Billet waking to find every pair of his staid black work stockings had been replaced by bright yellow ones, leaving him no choice but to serve tea at the annual Lord’s Gathering with his thin legs looking for all the world like a giant chicken.

She blushed and shook her head, laughing behind her hand at the image, her eyes filled with mild chastisement for his wickedness to tease the man so. She had begun to feel a bit better when the door flew open, striking the wall with a sharp bang that sent her to her feet with a squeak of shock. 

Wilhelm stood framed by the doorway like his portrait had been painted there.He was dressed in a jerkin of dull iron color with pewter buttons, the pristine white shirt beneath devoid of flounce or embroidery. His breeches were black, as were his boots, and she had never seen anyone who looked so handsome, and yet so furious. If this was the face that the Dominion soldiers saw in battle, she was shocked he had not conquered all of them by now. 

"I see you have met." He looked between them as he walked toward the head of the table. "I thank you, Matthias, for entertaining my wife in my absence. I have never heard her laugh aloud. It is good to know she is capable of it." He dropped into his chair and rested his hands over the ends of the arms of it, looking between them. “Please, do continue.” 

“Good evening, My Lord.” She bowed her head and sank into a slight curtsy as she worked to get her heart to stop racing. She wanted to say so much but held her tongue. 

“Don’t be an ass, Wil.” The screech of the chair’s legs on the stone floor proving that Matthias had taken his own seat back. “If she hasn’t laughed for you, I am not surprised.” She looked up in shock at the younger von Freidrich. “I’m so much more amusing.” He winked in her direction and she stifled a smile, taking back her own chair more delicately. 

“Perhaps.” She looked from Matthias to her husband’s thunderous face. “Of all the things my husband is, ‘amusing’ is not the top of the list. One hardly wishes their Lord to be a jester. In his position he must be serious-minded and…” she pushed to be brave. “While I may not have laughed, my Lord, I have more than a dozen smiles that you have spawned.” 

His eyes darkened and, if possible, he looked more intent. She dropped her eyes and cursed herself inwardly for overspeaking. One did not show their emotions like hanging out wet linens on the line. It was all she could do to remain in the chair and not bolt in shame. 

A small chime and the soup was brought out. She ate without hunger, her stomach in knots in a silence that was oppressive. When it had been cleared away, she looked toward Matthias. “I am sorry, _Juncherre_ , but curiosity is a woman’s curse. Do you live here?”

He dabbed at his lips with his napkin. “Of course I do. It’s my home. I mean, I have yet to make another.” 

“Good.” She sighed softly in relief. “I mean, I’m glad that I might have a chance to get to know you better. I never had a brother before.” 

“I had a sister.” He said quietly to himself, his mood shadowed by the memory. “She died.” He drew a deep, slow breath. “That said, I am happy to have another.” He looked up at her, sad, but attempting to be polite. 

“I cannot imagine your grief. If I were to lose my sister, I do not know what I would do.” 

“Indeed. Renata does love her sister.” Wilhelm drawled from the head of the table. “She would sacrifice anything for her.” There was a hardness in his words, darts meant to hurt. “If the floor were covered in broken glass, Renata would throw herself over it so her sister could walk without scratching the sole of her shoe.” 

“As would anyone.” She nodded faintly. “My sister is a fine woman. A lady without compare.” A slight snort from the head of the table that she chose to ignore. “Even were she not, she is my sister, and I care for her enough to not wish to see her harmed if I could prevent it.” 

“Wait…” Matthias sat back, crossing his arms, looking between them with narrowed eyes. “I feel I am missing something important here.” 

When Wilhelm did not speak, she dampened her lips and spoke herself. “Your brother was to marry my sister Margareta. I persuaded him to take another path.” Her bare shoulders rose and fell faintly. 

“So…” Matthias smirked. “You stole your sister’s intended husband? My, my.” he uncrossed his arms. “That is a story I would love to hear.” 

“The intimate details of how I chose Renata over her sister are not fit conversation for the dinner table, Matthias.” Wil grumbled as the next course was brought out. He speared into his braised perch and glared toward his brother. “If you wish to talk about someone’s life, speak of your own. Have you decided on a course for your life or are you content to just lounge about for the remainder of your days?”

Renata gasped softly at the harshness of the words. She reflexively wanted to soften them but bit back any consolation for the moment. Matthias grumbled something about needing to weigh his options and then it fell back to the painful quiet, broken only by the scrape of knife and dining fork against the plates. 

The fish and salad of boiled potatoes and spices cleared away, she looked up again. “ _Juncherre_ , perhaps I may offer help as you decide. Sometimes, I find, it is most helpful to talk over things with someone who has no bias.” 

He smiled and nodded. “That is very kind of you, Lady Wilhelm.” He chuckled. “So strange to call you that. May I be allowed to use your given name?”

“I see no harm...” She nodded. 

“You will not!” Simultaneously coming from Wilhelm’s end of the table, and she looked toward him, wondering what was the cause of such ferocity over so simple a thing. He looked like a baited bear at the end of a fraying tether and she felt a pang of true fear. 

“Obviously it displeases my Lord to hear my name aloud. He has every right to his opinion, and it is his we must obey. If you wish familiarity, and it does not harm you, I would not object to being addressed as sister.” 

“As you wish, _meine schwester_.” Bowing his head in her direction. “I will happily accept your most generous offer to help me decide what I will do with myself now that I am home to stay.” He glanced toward Wil and there was a tightness in his jaw. A moment later he looked back toward her. “Is that mother’s?” He motioned toward her throat.

“Oh, it was in the room, and…” She glanced toward Wilhelm. “You said the rooms were mine now and I ... “ 

“I have no care what you wear.” his eyes on the chains, his thoughts his own. “So long as you don’t damage anything.” 

“I am careful, My Lord.” She felt as though the air were being pulled from the room. Her nose and eyes were prickling with the promise of tears. “I … I think it best, My Lord, that I refrain from desert. I do not wish to overgrow my clothes after all.” A false jest and she turned her attention to Matthias, but not her eyes, which were fixed to the table before her. “I am quite happy to have you home. I look forward to speaking more when it is convenient for you.” She nodded toward Matthias as she stood. “I wish you both a pleasant evening.” And before she could dissolve utterly, she left the dining room, closing the door behind her before lifting her skirt and running for the stairs, hoping to make it to her room before she succumbed to weakness and weeping. 

She did not succeed.


	20. Chapter 20

Staring at the door through which his sister-in-law had vanished, Matthias turned on his brother as he stood. “What in the nine hells was THAT about?!”

“It is not your business.” Wilhelm pulled his eyes from the door and blinked calmly, his mouth a hard line. “My wife is not for you to concern yourself over.” 

“She was obviously upset. Someone needs to concern themselves over her and since it’s apparently not going to be you.” He threw his napkin onto the table and started for the door only to find his shoulder in a grip of iron before the third step. Yanked to turn he had only a moment to register the fist before it struck him in the side of his jaw, sending him stumbling into the wall, looking back at a brother he did not recognize. 

“You keep away from my wife.” Each word bitten through clenched teeth. “You may remain in this house but if I catch you even speaking to her again, I will send you back to Druvenlode to spend a short, dark life in the mines as a prisoner of The Crucible. I’ve paid handsomely to see you free, do not think I cannot make it work the other way around.” 

Matthias shook his head. “You’re insane! You’ve gone mad!” He stood and planted both palms on Wilhelm’s chest, shoving him back. He was an inch shorter but had his father’s stockier build and it forced the elder to a half-step retreat. “What is wrong with you? I wasn’t the one being an ass to her.” 

“No.” Wilhelm’s voice was cold. “You were the very image of the gentleman.” His temper simmering. “Earning her laughter, her smiles, gaining her confidence.” He took another step back. “I am warning you, Matty. Leave her alone.” 

Matthias blinked several times, his brow knit. “Matron’s mercy.” He gasped softly. “You’re in love with her.” He laughed, a sharp barking sound of shocked amazement. “You … are in love with your wife.” 

“I am not …” Wilhelm sucked a breath through his teeth. “It was not my intention.” 

“Wil, you can’t be in love with your _wife_. It’s … beyond foolish.” 

“Don’t you think I know that?!” he snapped as he dropped into the nearest chair, burying his face in his hands. “Do you imagine I wanted this?”

“Gods…” Matthias moved to his abandoned seat, rubbing his jaw as he plopped down. “What… how did it happen, Wil? I thought you were too smart for that.” 

“I should have married Margareta.” he mused faintly as he looked up. “She was … well, let us say she would never have had to worry over such behavior as you’ve witnessed tonight.” 

“Why didn’t you?” 

“Because the moment I woke up and saw Renata’s face, I knew I wanted to do that every morning. She is… she’s clever and industrious and vexing and kind and I..” he shook his head. “I care for her very much.” 

“You know it won’t last.” Matthias said gently. “Love is like winter snows. It is gone and then spring flowers blossom and you forget all about the snow.” 

“Flowers fade, and the fruits of summer tempt and enthral and those too pass to the beauty of changing leaves.” Wilhelm finished what had been said to them a thousand times by their father. Love was nothing to build a life on. Love made a man weak. Made him stupid. Had not the fact he’d just punched his brother proof of that? 

“I am sorry.” Wilhelm grit his teeth. “Sorry for hitting you, and sorry for not being more sympathetic to your … Lily situation. I never expected to feel so strongly over a woman I’d lash out like that.” 

“I was drunk, Wil.” Matthias chuckled dryly. “You attacked me sober. I think you’ve got it much worse.” Turning more serious, he crossed his arms. “I don’t think I ever really would have married her. She was, after all, just a whore like any other.” Bitterness in his voice. 

Wil could hear it. That he was heartbroken, believing his love had killed her, blaming himself over it. Still, it had been for the best. He would, someday, confess the truth, but not now. Let the wound heal over first. “What I am going to do, Matthias?”

“You must be strong until the seasons change and your eye falls on something more diverting.” He shrugged, then gave a crooked smile. “Tell me though, while you are ensorcelled by love…” teasing in his tone. “What happened in Yrrosa?”

“I intended to do what I was supposed to. But, and you must never speak of it, my new sister-in-law is a vain, money-grubbing, lascivious slut. Her touch makes me ill. The idea of bedding her…” he shuddered and made a sound of disgust. “To make an heir with her? I’d rather rut with a donkey and call my son Jack than touch her.” 

“I had heard she was beautiful, charitable, an angel made flesh.” Matthias mused. 

“Oh, she is beautiful. On the outside. That is all it takes for someone to be judged worthy oftentimes. They forgive all manner of ugliness of action if the face is pretty.” 

“Your wife is also not difficult to look upon.” Matty said cautiously, fearing another blow would come if he was too complimentary. 

“Just so. She is also giving and kind and she works very hard. She is good to people who don’t deserve it and generous by her nature. So, in short, the opposite of myself.” He chuckled faintly. “This sister, she already had a lover. One who had already filled her with his bastard, so I discovered.” 

“No!?” Matthias sat forward, gobsmacked. “And her father was planning to pass her off to you anyway?”

“He did not know. No one knew except the viper herself until I arrived. Renata was, I have come to learn, told the night before the wedding. It was this news that made her do something desperate.” He could tell his brother was enthralled. “She made it seem I had … abused my host’s trust and seduced his other daughter. Not to him of course, but to me. She said that Margareta didn’t want me, I didn’t want to be married at all… and so if I would sign the alliance and go away a single man, she would not tell her father I had conquered her in my drunken state.” 

“She blackmailed you?” Matthias looked both aghast and impressed. “Wait, you said she wanted you to go away unmarried. She was content to let you have her but not make an offer to her father?” 

“Nothing happened that night, it was all a fraud. She merely needed something to use as leverage to make me break the engagement without revealing that her sister was a whore. As for the rest, of course I said I would marry her. She said no. More than once. She would have continued to refuse me if I hadn’t turned things against her. I told her I would leave without any alliance at all if she didn’t marry me. Even then, she tried to tell me the truth before I was bound to her. She threw her life away to save that unworthy little whore of a sister.” 

“I would hardly call it throwing her life away, Wil. She’s the Lady of Ravenswood after all. She will never want for anything.” 

“She was happy there. She had family and though they did not deserve her, she loved them. You have never been to Yrrosa, but it is beautiful. Her home was everything that this place is not. Bright and open and humble…” _like her_ , he thought. “Now she is trapped here. With me for a husband. She never wanted me. Only her sister’s happiness, the alliance, and the safety of her family’s good name.” 

Matthias shook his head softly. “She did not seem unhappy, Wilhelm. She seemed sad, perhaps, but after the way you treated her tonight, I can’t say that I blame her. It sounds as if she found herself in a position she didn’t want, but it’s obvious she is trying to make it work now that she’s in it.” 

“You are young, Matty.” Wil sighed. “Youth always sees hope.” 

“That explains her then. She is not so much older than I am, is she?”

Wilhelm studied his brother for a moment. “You are twenty and one, yes?” 

“Twenty-two come the fourteenth of Sydenstar.”

“She is older.” He blanched in the awareness it was only by a few months at best. Again, that stabbing feeling of jealousy. Matty _was_ closer to her age. He was handsome and well-born. He had spoken only kindly while he himself had been a raging jackass. 

“If you did nothing that night, I do assume you’ve done something since?” Matthias raised his hands to ward off any attack that might be coming. “I mean, you cannot by law have the marriage annulled? If you think her so unhappy, that would be the generous thing to do.” 

“I have ruined her.” He frowned faintly. “It is too late to send her back now.” 

“Well then, you are just going to have to make the best of it.” Matthias gnawed at his lip as he sat there. “You love her. That will, of course, fade. You are a man. You must, however, make sure she does not ever love you in return. A woman’s love is not a man’s. A woman in love will live only to drive hooks into you. To pull you down and make you her slave. You must give her a child. A distraction to pour her love into so she has none left to vex you with.”

“You are right, of course.” Wilhelm nodded, his mind drifting. The thought she might ever love him was not something he’d considered, but he would, of course, not want her to. The idea of making a child, all the requisite actions, made him swallow hard. After last night, he doubted she would take any pleasure from it, but he selfishly admitted to himself that his own pleasure would be immeasurable. “I will let her brood a bit, then, when she comes to bed I will smooth things over.” 

“So I may speak to her? I … do not have to act as if she is a specter in the halls I can neither see nor hear?” Matthias grinned, then winced a bit, rubbing at his jaw again. 

“Yes, of course you may. I should not have overreacted.” 

“Such things happen when men are in the grip of love, _mein bruder_. I understand completely. You must think nothing of it. I would much prefer you hit me rather than her.” He sighed gently. “The necklace almost hid it completely.” 

For a moment, Wilhelm had forgotten. “That was an accident, Matthias.” 

Matthias stood, nodding. “Yes, I remember well mother’s _accidents_. I can only hope your wife does not have them as often.” 

Wilhelm remembered too. The indignation that his brother believed he could have done something like that was only crushed by the awareness that he had done it. “Goodnight, Matthias.” Sinking back into his chair, sure than further conversation would only make him feel worse. His brother left, and it shamed him to his core that he listened intently to which direction his footsteps went, only relaxing when he heard them moving upward toward the north wing rather than fading toward the south. 

He felt ill. He had struck his own brother out of jealousy. He’d nearly done the same to Caspar a dozen times as he feigned calm and let the man dress him, all the while prattling on about how Renata was working so hard. How she’d worried over being a good mistress to the household. Had inspected the grounds and made lists of things she thought needed improving. While he had hated the sound of praise of her on Caspar’s tongue, it was the jabs that made him imagine violence. How cowed she seemed today. How the bright and able chatelaine of Rosenfeld Manor was now overwhelmed with doubt and fear of her husband. How she believed she was not important to him and how she was doing all she could to be found even remotely acceptable in his eyes. 

He’d managed to keep his temper locked away, but it had been impossible to restrain when he reached the door and saw her so beautiful, so illuminated with happiness and laughter. To see his brother laughing with her had soured his pleasure to hear her joy. Jealousy poisoned him as he watched them during dinner. She barely turned her eyes toward the head of the table where he sat. She looked as Caspar had said, as if she were afraid of him. Hadn’t she reason to be? She wasn’t afraid of Matthias. With him she could smile and speak of how she looked forward to knowing him better. Offering to listen and advise him on his future because she was unbiased. She seemed almost anxious to allow him the use of her name. How she must long to hear it said by someone she did not despise. Yet even that he stole from her. 

He had choked down every bite, each spoonful tasting like ashes as he relived the night before, saw how it had broken her. Seeing her with another man, even his own brother, made him burn to carry her away to a room where only he had a key and shut her away where she would be his and his alone. Selfishly hoarding her like a dragon over coins. He had noticed the necklace and thought she looked beautiful in it. It hurt him a bit that he hadn’t taken the time to present the whole jewel chest to her, made it clear to her that he was giving her everything. Told her that they were nothing compared to her own beauty. Instead he’d treated her like a child playing dress-up. ‘I do not care what you wear’ he had said, but he’d meant ‘you could wear a dirt-crusted potato bag and be the most lovely thing in the room’.

When he realized why she’d worn it not to be a pretty bauble but because it hid that he’d nearly choked her to death, it shamed him. Worse still when Matty confirmed the rumor that his father had found someone else to take his anger out upon when the house was emptied of all but the Princess and the Baby. It had been an accident. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. He’d never hit her even in anger. If she hadn’t startled him. If he hadn’t been drunk. _If you hadn’t been drunk you would have done worse than bruise her_ , the thought drifted in his mind and he stood up as if leaving the room would get him away from it. 

He stopped at the sideboard where the bottles of libation sat in a line. He snatched up a bottle of whiskey and drank straight from the bottle, the sting of the liquor burning his throat but if he could drown that voice he might be able to sleep. A gasp when he lowered it, diminished by a quarter. Stalking up to his room he shut the door behind him and threw enough logs onto the fire that it was roaring within minutes. If he was going to be in Hell, he might as well learn to enjoy the heat. 

Hours passed. The bottle nearly emptied, he let it fall, heedless of the spill across the rug. His thoughts were dull and the fire, once so bright and hot it left his skin hurting, was now nothing more than glowing embers in the grate. He felt cold and bereft. He made himself rise and got another log, throwing it in, and then toppled back into his chair as it slowly began to be licked by renewed flames. 

He had thought to drown that inner voice, but the drink only made it belligerent and loud. He was a low and base abuser of a beautiful woman who had never done anything worth what he’d done. She had lied, yes, for good reasons. She’d chosen to marry a stranger and leave everything she loved behind and what had it gotten her? A cruel bastard of a man who raped her and treated her like she was unwanted. 

As the fire crackled, the voice inside that hated him quieted and was replaced by The Villain. His voice was made of images. Of feelings. How hot and wet she had been. How she’d enveloped him so tightly it almost hurt, how her mouth had tasted on his tongue. Twisting the truth so he imagined she kissed him back. Concocted the idea her body moved faintly to meet his thrusts and begged wordlessly for him to own her deepest places. Took innocuous things she had done or said and made them salacious until he couldn’t remember what was real anymore. His head swam and his body ached, lust fed by the flashes of imagination. 

He let his brain process things that had escaped his notice when he was looking through jealous eyes. Her dress had been unlike any he had ever seen her in. Without the necklace, her throat and shoulders, the milk-smooth line of her chest, it would all have been exposed. Her hair pulled back but in such a way that it seemed so near to coming loose. His hands flexed now to think of running through those strands, of them spread beneath her face like a sea of chocolate and motes of caramel, to grip it in his fists and kiss her, taste her, to have her taste him. He groaned as the thought suddenly seemed so real, her head in his lap, his hands wound up in her locks, guiding her as she took him into her mouth. 

His hips shifted faintly in time with her imagined ministrations, his eyes closed, letting the fantasy bear him away for a long minute more before he shot out of his seat and nearly tumbled over, catching himself on the mantle. He was aroused and ashamed, his want of her made him equally disgusted and rapacious. He looked up at the clock, the water reserve dripping slowly, the droplet quivering from his collision, then falling, sending the long hand to tick upward another bit nearer toward the other. Soon both would be resting on the twelve. He had not commanded her to come to him tonight, but he had said that there was not a night she was uninvited to his bed. 

_She is a dutiful wife. She will come. Then so will you._ The Villain murmured lewdly and sent flashes of breathless gasps, soft arms, needful moans and heat, such heat that his knees weakened and he could almost feel her against him. Holding tight to the mantle, he panted softly as he turned his eyes toward the door, feeling as the wolf must when watching the exit of a rabbit warren. From somewhere distant, the clock chimed. Each peal of the bell making him twitch, tongue prepared to speak ‘enter’ at the first timid tap of her knuckles. Six… seven… he stepped away from the mantle, intending to drag her in and kiss her deeply before she could even speak. Ten… eleven… twelve… and then silence. Quiet so deep it almost hurt the ears. 

He jerked the door open, but the hall was empty. No sign anyone had been there at all. The three voices in his head, though all him, were in disagreement. She was hurt, he had been rude and rough and he should understand she needed time to recover. No, she was not there because she hated him. Despised the thought of him touching her. Hurting her like he did last night. Like he did when he left her bruised and choking. Oh, the poor wounded little lamb. Little hurt lambs made easy prey and another wolf was probably devouring her even now. His maw filled with her sweetness.

He tore out of the room, walking hastily down the hall. He would find the answer to why she was not there. Each part of him sure it was right, planning how to react when they were proven so. He raised his fist to bang on the door, but instead, refrained and knocked firmly. There was no answer. No doubt it was locked to keep him out. His hand fell to the doorknob and it turned easily. 

Within the room, it was dark, but no so dark that he could not make out with utter clarity that her bed was empty.


	21. Chapter 21

She had left dinner, her tears burning to fall and got as far as the stairs before she stopped. She needed to talk to him. To get things back to what they were in the carriage when they had played the game with the coins and she had thought happiness was hers to claim. She reached the door, but she could hear he was not alone. She paused, the words seeping through the door. 

“... lascivious slut. Her touch makes me ill. The idea of bedding her…? To make an heir with her? I’d rather rut with a donkey and call my son Jack than touch her…” 

She stepped back and swallowed against the painful tide of hurt. She’d reached her room after, though she did not remember the journey. She’d stood at her private sitting room window watching the sun slowly sink. Westward. Home. These windows, unlike her husband's, had neither door nor balcony. That was good as she might have been tempted to throw herself down into the stone courtyard if they opened. 

Darkness overtook the landscape, she was forced to turn away from the window as it now only reflected her own face back at her. He had known. She had failed. She was weak and though she’d done her best to be unmoved by his touch, his kisses, his body working such feeling within her, she had betrayed herself and he was disgusted by her. She would keep herself as invisible to him as she could tonight, and tomorrow, she’d make a point of facing him with level-headed calm. Let him see that she understood. That her depravity was a fine reason to set her aside. She would vanish into the world and he could let everyone believe her dead. Inwardly she plotted to go into the Dominion lands where she could sink into harlotry, for no other vocation befitted a woman like her, safe in knowing no one from the Truscan Empire, much less her family, would ever discover her. It was not perfect, but it was better than having to suffer a marriage he had never truly wanted in the first place.

The Lord’s mother’s necklace was gingerly returned to the case and replaced before she dug her cloak free from her chest, drawing the dark wool around her, the hood pulled up to hide her hair and face. She walked out of her room and out of the castle, needing to breathe the air and seek the peace she had once found in nighttime wanderings. 

The castle did not have the sort of walls she was used to. They were thinner, made of stone, and crowned in spikes, so she made do with the paths in the overgrown garden. She had followed her grandfather’s pacing a hundred times in her life. She blamed herself that she was not there when he fell. Had she been there, she might have saved him. Even after his loss, she had often walked the walls by herself in search of peace under the moonlight. Here, as at home, it was just waning and still bright, but only snippets of its light escaped the heavy clouds that drifted from the mountain.

She wandered with her head bowed, her arms wrapped around herself, the crushed stone underfoot softly crunching as it shifted with every step. The path was a twisting sort of maze, and eventually, it lead to a small stone gazebo at the center. She sank down on the cold bench, weeping, her fist bitten to stifle the sobs that wracked her frame as she drew into herself.

There were guards, but they, likely knowing that she was not a threat, did not follow her, and she was deep enough in the wilds of the garden that she doubted she would be heard. She wept for her loss, for the dreams that would not be. For the pain she had caused, for the shame and disappointment she had left in her wake. The tears stopped, though the pain only grew. She was eaten alive by the shadow of night, her eyes closed, curled up against the bench, empty inside.

The dark crept back as the clouds parted, she could see every line in the marble floor, her fingers dropped to trace a particularly wide one as it branched off into a dozen smaller tributaries. 

“Were you not pleased with my boon?” 

She sat up and turned quickly on the bench. In the light a small girl stood, staring at her. White hair drifted around her features as if she were lying in a pool of water, her skin faintly blue, her eyes keen, so light a tint of blue the pupil and iris almost seemed to be one. “Boon?” Unsure, as the voice she heard had not sounded like a child’s. 

“Of course.” The child’s lips unmoving as the voice came again, though it seemed to be in her head and not her ears. “You are a child of my favored acolyte. You climbed the secret stair to his altar. Where all of his sacrifices were offered." There was a feeling more than a sound of laughter, low and sensual as the girl ran her hands up her arms and let her head fall back in ecstasy. "Such lustful playthings he brought. Such succulent secrets we shared."

Renata’s stomach turned to see such a display. 

The girl’s chin dropped and the pale eyes touched hers again. “It bothers you to hear such things from this form?” A shift of light, like looking through a waterfall for an instant, then the girl was a tall elven woman, the white hair still in motion, her opalescent skin barely covered by scraps of what seemed silken scarves and tiny silver chains holding them around her hips and breasts. 

"Moonweaver." Renata’s tongue felt heavy at the bottom of her mouth. Her grandfather had been most feverish in his worship. She had never been as devoted as he was, though she had always been curious. He would only promise that when she was older, he would show her everything. When he’d died, her father had rid the house of every idol, every vestige of the goddess except for ... oh no. The Mistress Path. 

"You reached out to me, child. You said in your heart, 'he cannot marry my sister'." She laughed again, though Renata found the sound held no warm reassurance. "And thanks to my gift to you, he did not. I hoped you would bed him yourself that night, but you were too timid. It is my greatest sorrow that so many are too afraid to embrace my teachings." 

"Your teachings?" She could hardly believe she was conversing with a goddess, but she was curious. 

"First, to seize your destiny by pursuing passion. Second, let the shadows I create protect you from the light of good, hiding all your secret trysts from prying eyes, and lastly, to go forth in life unburdened by ties to anyone, living only for new experiences." 

What of commitment and affection? To pursue only passion, hiding from the light of good, unburdened by ties and living only for new thrills? That did not sound proper. It sounded like, well, like being a whore.

"While you were a virgin, you could not know me. Now, you have been awakened to the truth. The world is rife with pleasure if you will only reach out and take it when it comes. You crave the human man’s touch, but how can you say you would not find even greater ecstasy in the arms of a dwarven smith or grow drunk on the taste of an Elven barmaid’s kisses if you have never tried it?"

She turned her mind from any thoughts that such words might stir. "You spoke of a boon?"

"I made him want you, child. While he slept, I was in his dreams stirring up such passions to have you that when his eyes first fell on you, he would have no other thought than to possess you. The drink and your own reticence confounded me then, but ..." She paused, her pale eyes shifting in the frame of soft lashes away and down. "He comes even now, hunting you, and his thoughts are on only one thing. Shall I show you?"

Renata gasped as a flood of images raced into her brain unbidden, acts of carnality that made her gasp aloud. Of being with him her arms and legs wound around him like ivy bound a mighty oak. His teeth sunk into her shoulder and her nails raking over his back until blood flowed as his naked backside clenched with every ruthless thrust into her more than willing body. On her belly, like a beast, his hands in her hair dragging her back to bow as his hard flesh slid into her wetly, shamelessly begging him for more, licking her lips as she looked at him over her shoulder, eyes glowing with lust. 

“Please, stop.” She shook her head and covered her ears but it did not stop the visions. She was naked astride a man of limited height but ample flesh, his hard hands pulling her down, impaling her, each meaty smack of her rump to his thighs met with a squeal of delight. Surrounded by hands, touching, teasing, slipping where they sparked flame and need, tongues of velvet across every inch of her. Of being in the stocks, head bagged, being used by strangers, knowing not whose hands were upon her. Her body in those visions burning and alive with sensation, even as her mind rebelled and her belly clenched with nausea. Though they were gone in a blink, the touch of those impressions on her memory remained like oil on water, a whisper to look again, to seek out those images and build upon them as they tickled through her consciousness. 

“No!” She screamed as she sat up, the night inky and lightless, her breath coming in fast gasps, aware that she dozed off. It was only a dream. She looked skyward, terrified of the clouds parting. She rose and ran, the path winding and she could not find the way out. Trying to flee the dark sentinel of the mountains. She saw, at last, the roof of the small temple and eschewing the path, she ran through the dying flowers, tearing at her dress, to reach it. 

Inside, there was no light. It was dark and cool and peaceful. Even when the moon came out, the light did not penetrate past the open door deep enough to reach her. She sank down against the back wall, arms wrapped around her knees. _Just a dream, just a bad dream_ she repeated over and over, willing herself to believe it. Slowly, the feeling of terror ebbed. The dream grew more distant and her heated body was cooled by the stone at her back and under her folded legs.

“I heard something, I swear.” A male voice rose and she did not recognize it. A shadow blocked the door and then stepped back. “My Lord! She is here.” 

Another shape filled the door and took a step inside. “So I see. Leave us.” The other shadow vanished from the door and the one she knew now to be her husband advanced. He stopped and looked down at her for several long minutes, saying nothing. She was still shaken, and feared that if she opened her mouth it would not go well. 

“It is well past midnight. Why choose to seek the goddess now?”

Her first instinct was to deny it. She hadn’t been looking for her, she’d just… appeared. Then a moment later she realized he meant The Matron of Ravens and she swallowed. “I just wanted somewhere quiet to think. I assume your Matron does not dwell only in the daylight?” 

“Death does not sleep, no.” He said it with a soft note of pain that she could easily guess the cause of. He frowned. “It is dangerous out here. Anything could have happened to you.” 

“My Lord, I did not leave the castle grounds I walked in the garden, I came here to rest and think. You speak as if I were out wandering some street made only of dark alleys.” 

“It was barely dusk when assassins came into this very courtyard and murdered my sister, my brother, her husband and more than a dozen others before they were stopped! I warned you what I would do if you did not keep what is mine safe.” 

She pushed herself up to her feet, her eyes betraying her fury. “I will not be your slave! I humored you, I let myself be lulled by your sweet lies and I admit I said it aloud before witnesses, but it was not a vow, not a promise and **you do not own me!** ” She shouted, her throat hurting but it felt good to turn her pain outward instead of in.

He took a step back, then squared his shoulders and came toward her. She grabbed up the first thing her hand touched, though she doubted the stubby taper would do much to dissuade him from whatever he plotted. To her surprise he did stop and though his features were a mask of anger, his voice was quiet. “Do not raise your voice toward me. I am not your father, but I will take you across my knee if you insist on being so defiant for no good reason. I am only trying to keep you safe!” he hissed. 

“You do not have to lie, My Lord.” Her heart felt cold and still, the heat that had burned in her blood was gone now. “I heard you telling your brother how you would rather take your pleasure in a stable than in my company. I am aware now of what I am. Why I am cursed to be deviant.” She dampened her lips. “I will offer freely to vanish. You may happily be rid of me with only what coin you think will get me south to Zadash. I can cause you no more regret there, nor worry that my family will ever find out what I am.” 

He stood, mouth hanging open. He could not look more confused and shocked if she’d smacked him across the face with a halibut. He just blinked, closing his mouth, then opening it, but shaking his head and pressing his lips together. Over and again, as if nearly saying something, but changing his mind at the very last moment. His blues as hard as cut glass, he pinned her under his gaze. “You. Will. Not.” Each word clipped and quiet, but rolling with thunderous anger unspent. “House. Now.” he pointed as if she were some truculent child being sent to fetch the switch. 

She balked, sure that if she entered the castle she would indeed wind up in chains. “No.” She held the candle in her hand like a dagger between them. “You never wanted this. I deceived you. I have brought you only pain and misery. Let me go.” Her stance wavered a bit, her heart aching. “Let me do this for you, Wilhelm, please. No one will ever need to know the truth. They will think me dead soon enough and you will be free of me.” 

“Do you know the Raven Queen, Renata.” His voice chill. “What those of us who follow her believe?” 

She shuddered and shook her head. 

“Death is the natural end of all living things. Undeath is an abomination.” He lifted a finger. “And… that the path of fate is sacrosanct. Attempts to cast off your destiny will surely end in punishment.” with a sweep of his hand, he snatched the candle out of her hand, his other hand grabbing her arm. “Do you understand?”

She nodded, knowing her life was ending. Better that perhaps than to rot away in a Julousian camp. “Yes.” She closed her eyes, waiting. Seconds ticked by and she heard him set the candle down gently. Let it be swift. She prayed inwardly. When she felt his grip loosen, and his other hand touch her cheek she flinched faintly. Still, nothing. She expected pain but nothing, eventually, she opened her eyes. 

“You understand nothing. I believe in fate. I believe that my fate and yours are now one. I will not defy it, and I will not allow you, in your ignorance, to do it either.”

“Perhaps it is fate that I leave here. My destiny to spend what remains of my life repenting and being punished for what I am.” 

He sighed sharply. “You keep saying that. ‘What I am’. What do you think you are, Renata?”

“I am … wicked. I am cursed.” She opened her mouth to tell him about the dream, but she couldn’t make herself confess that not only was she licentious, but she was also a lunatic. There was shame in saying it aloud, but it wasn’t as if he did not already know. Even if it disgusted him so that he’d rather lie with an animal than her. “Last night…” She swallowed hard. 

“I am sorry for last night.” He let her go and took a step back. 

“As am I. I wish I could have been unmoved. That I could have done you honor and not… wallowed in lustful thoughts and immoral cravings.” She shook her head and lifted her chin, choosing defiance to protect herself. “I do not blame you for being repulsed. I would not want the mother of my children to be a whore either.”

Again he stared. “You…” Once more he seemed unable to speak the thoughts that were running through his head, the start of a syllable all she’d get before it died on his lips and he was back to his frustrated musing. He paced away, then back, his hand up, index shook as he grimaced, then walked away again, muttering under his breath. He stopped and set his hand on the altar with a bowed head. “Matron of Ravens give me strength…” Looking up he frowned at her. “You were going to leave me, leave the Empire, go into the lands of the Dominion knowing well what would become of you...because you think I am _displeased_ that you enjoyed my bedding you?” 

She did not understand his tone. “Naturally. Wives do not take pleasure in such acts. The only ecstasy a proper woman feels is in the movement of her unborn child within her belly.” 

“Who told you such unmitigated _kuhscheiße?!_ ” He snapped at her. 

“My… my mother.” 

He shook his head. “Renata, I will tell you that there is no greater joy to a man than to know his lover is pleased. To see her enjoy his touch. His kisses. Their union.” He lowered his voice as he drew closer, but it was not the threatening stalk it had been. “You hinted you felt the same. That you dreamed of me. I thought you … that you’d had lovers before me. I didn’t care. I wanted you still. Then, last night, it was obvious you were untouched but I couldn’t stop myself. I should have. I should have been patient and gentle. Made you understand.” 

“Understand what?” She shuddered, unable to believe he meant what he said. 

He inhaled slowly, and let it out with a shaky breath. “Come with me. Let me show you.” 

She felt her hand move to seek his, her fingers feeling chilled in the warmth of his firm grip. She nodded and followed where he lead.


	22. Chapter 22

He’d suffered every terrible thought when he found her bed empty. Had she gone to his brother for company? Slipped to a secret rendezvous with his friend? Could he truly blame her for trying to find comfort when all he had given her was pain? He woke her maid, who had not seen her since before dinner. He had, with a heavy heart, crept through the house, listening for any sign of her, finding Caspar in the library alone, and his brother snoring into his pillows, likewise devoid of company. He combed the house without a sign of her and had just begun to search the grounds when the guard called out to him. When he saw her cowering in the small temple his brother had insisted be built, for an instant, he had thought he saw the goddess herself, a face of white framed in darkness, eyes that would draw one’s soul to another world. Then he saw only her, chilled and obviously terrified. 

He reacted badly. As ever, he tried to dominate her and, in an act that both infuriated and pleased him, she struck out at him. He saw the girl who he had seen face down a goblin in the roadside. She threatened him with a candle of all things, not even lit, and it was only his fool temper that kept him from laughing. Then, her words sank into his mind and he heard her. She was going to leave him. Leave the Truscan Empire and flee to the ruthless arms of the Julosians? It became obvious she had overheard him talking to Matthias about Margareta and mistook him completely. His mouth opened to correct the mistake she’d made. To reassure her that he would never say such a thing of her. That while he was a brutish bastard for what he’d done to her, he did not find her anything but pleasing. Instead, he’d just reacted like a bully and commanded her to obey rather than explain anything. 

She begged. Pleaded with him to let her go. To let her die, thinking somehow it would make his life better. How could she be so clever and so utterly stupid at the same time!? He needed her to know. To understand that he was bound to her. She was his destiny and he did not want to throw it away. He loved her. He tried to make it clear without saying it aloud, his heart still too weak to allow him to do so, but it had been only a moment after he’d touched her that it dawned on him. She thought he was going to end her life there and then. The weight of that epiphany was as painful as a dagger to the chest.

She then confessed her ‘curse of deviance’. He was again rendered speechless. Shamefully, he had felt a frisson of elation when it had clicked in his mind what her issue had been. She didn’t hate him! It was quickly doused in the reality that she thought death was a better choice than enjoying her own husband’s touch. What ridiculousness! He could not imagine why her mother would say such a thing, much less repeat it so often that it was ingrained into the girl in a scant handful of years. No, the why did not matter now. All that mattered was that he do his best to counteract that belief. To burn it out of her mind by showing her how her sensual pleasure was not only normal but very welcome to him.

With her hand enveloped in his, he led her back into the castle and to his room, his thumb lightly petting across the top of her hand to soothe her. She did not balk at the door, and though part of him still clawed to pounce her like a cat upon a fat mouse, he fed that part with the promises of how much more would be accomplished when she was not only willing but eager. His hand still covering hers, he closed the door behind them and laid her hand on the key, turning it slowly. “There is no world outside of this room.” He spoke quietly near her ear. He could feel her hand shaking as together they pulled the key out and he took it in his other hand, hanging it from a hook beside the door. “There is only you and I.” 

Lifting her hand, he kissed her knuckles and let her go. “Let me feed the fire,” he added more wood, feeling bad for the poor scullery maid who would have a whole bucket load of ashes from this room in the morning. He lit a thin taper from the fire and began to light the candles until the room glowed softly with golden light. He wanted no shadows. No darkness. Only warmth and light and honesty. Jumping to conclusions and assuming things had been the cause of every sour moment between them, and he knew that he had to risk showing her his own truth to earn hers, and with it, any hope of happiness.

Looking back at her, he could not help but feel sympathy. She still looked as if she were a rabbit and he a fox. A few long-legged strides and he drew her toward the center of the room where he could see her face, and she his. He had regrets. Hundreds. He would never regret what he had done in Yrrosa. “I want to be honest with you. I want you to be honest with me. It’s not going to be easy.” She gave a faint incline of her chin he took as agreement. “I have enjoyed every instant you have occupied my arms. I thought I would die on the journey, wanting you as badly as I did, but I felt it important for you to have a proper bed and comfortable surroundings for such an important thing as one’s wedding night. I would happily have had you in a rainwashed ditch on the Havenpath Road, or in that carriage, or while you occupied my lap as we rode through town…” he noted her blush, but also that the corner of her mouth twitched a bit as if she almost smiled. “My point is, that I am, even now, fit to perish from how badly I want you under me again.” he took her chin and insisted she look up at him. “However, I swear to you, that if you speak the word ‘hold’ I will stop whatever I am doing.” He held her eyes with his own, making certain she was not only listening but hearing him. “Nothing, not even me, can harm you here. Do you understand?”

She nodded, and he mirrored it. Her hand still in his, he lifted it and laid her palm on the center of his chest. Gingerly, he began to untie the laces at her wrist. “Speaking of the carriage, do you remember the night I won our game? The rain beating on the roof and we were alone in the dark ” he inwardly felt a thrill shoot through him when her fingers flexed and her nails lightly scratched over his thin shirt, setting the skin beneath to greater awareness. “I wanted very much to know what you had dreamed of me. You said it was deviant and I, _mein täubchen_ , have known some very deviant people. Knowing now that you thought ‘deviant’ is what I would call ‘natural’, I feel I must apologize for the scenarios I conjured to fill in the blanks when you wouldn’t tell me what the dream was about.” 

“But you knew.” She shivered as he lifted her other hand to undo the laces, both hands now resting against his chest, the cool touch of her hands felt even through the fabric. “You guessed at any rate.” She looked only as high as his breastbone. “Then you were what I dreamed, and more. I try to keep from being prideful, but I never thought I was the sort who would be so lustful that in front of a village of strangers she would call herself your slave.” She groaned and leaned forward, her brow touching his chest, hiding her face, the heat of her blush a shock after her cold fingers. 

“It pleased me to hear you say it.” He wrapped his arms around her. “Not because I want you to be enslaved, but because I believed you’d only done it to make them think I was a villain. That I was a dangerous man. People feel safer when they think their leaders are strong and fearless. You played your role very well.” His tone warm, his hands lifting to pet across her scalp. “But it was just that. A role. If you want it, I will happily be your villain, and you my prey, but…” he set his palms on her shoulders and pushed her back so he could look into her eyes. “You may also be my Mistress, and I will happily obey _your_ commands when such play pleases you. Whatever we do within this room, it is right and good, as long as we both are enjoying it.”

Her eyes moved across the ivory of her hands laid against the pale material of his shirt, her touch having been warmed by his own heat. Slowly, her hands moved in tandem upward over his chest toward his shoulders. Palms against his collarbone, she tugged at the ends of the tie holding his shirt closed. “You have bedded many whores, have you not, My Lord?” She looked up at him, her gaze curious, not accusatory. 

He blinked at the question, but he had made a vow to himself to be as honest as he could. “Yes.” he nodded. “Though not so many as you might think.” 

“Am I like them?” Her tone weighted with fear still, but also a morbid sort of curiosity. 

He inhaled slowly and deeply. He didn’t have a ready answer. “Imagine if I, each time you wished to speak to me I responded...” he lifted his chin and stared out over her head into the middle distance, his voice shifting to a dull monotone. “Of course. Whatever you say. Do as you like. Pass the butter, if you please.” He dropped his eyes and the artifice. “And that was the way of every conversation we had. Would you not crave to talk with someone who held up their side? Who stimulated you to not only speak but to listen?” His hands slid along her shoulders lightly. “It is much the same with lustful things. If you had chosen to be cold and still and I received acquiescence, but nothing more, it would not be enjoyable for either of us.”

She nodded faintly, her brow knit. “I think I understand better, My Lord. It is a mirroring. When you are pleased, I am pleased, and I must accept that it works the other way too.” Her thumbs moved along the now open collar of his shirt. “It is not easy for me.” She dampened her lips, her tone reflective. “May I try something?”

“Of course.” He was curious about what was going on behind her eyes. 

She nodded. “I want to be what you say is right. I feel it, I want to act, but then I hit this wall in my head and all I hear is that proper women do not do such things, he will turn from you and you will wind up abandoned and alone. I cannot yet get past that wall.”

He felt his heart sink at her words, though he did understand. He had been told things all his life that he still felt like stains on his mind, poisoning his thoughts and keeping him from being happy. 

“You did, however, speak of roles” She reached up and undid the braid as she talked. “Lady Wilhelm von Friedrich is unable to surmount that impediment. If, however, it is not she who is doing the things I am considering, then she cannot be judged. I do not have to act like a Lady if I am not one.” Her hands brushed her hair down across her bare shoulders and she lifted her eyes to his. Though the features were the same, there was something different in her. In the way she looked at him, in the way she held herself. 

“My sister is unworthy of you, My Lord.” She stepped closer and slid her hands over his chest. “And you cannot marry her. She is already filled with her lover’s child. I can help you escape this trap” her hands met at his neck and pressed to draw him down as she rose on her toes and brushed her lips against his. “For a price..” 

It was obvious she was speaking as though it was the night of the banquet in her father’s home. A retelling of the narrative where different choices had been made. His hands slid around her waist and, though it went against every urge in his body, he gently pushed her back, lifting his head out of the reach of her tempting mouth. “What price.” He twisted his index finger around the end of the lace that rested on her hip. “Why are you here? For my title? It means little. I am not so wealthy as most of my ilk. My homeland is dour and my family is cursed. What riches do you think I can pay?”

“I have been watching you since you arrived. You are a good man. Your men’s devotion show it to be so.” She laid her hands over his. “And you are very handsome, more so when you are not frowning. I began to think on when you might be made to smile. I am curious what pleases you enough to earn one. I then began to wonder if you are as beautiful under your clothes are you are in them.” She blushed a bit, but she did not retreat. “I am sure to spend all my days as chatelaine here. I will never marry. Since you arrived, however, I began to want to know what it is to be bedded well. You are surely able to show me. If you do this for me, I will fix it so you may leave with your alliance’s benefits and without a wife who I know will make you miserable.” 

It was difficult to imagine how he might have reacted if this was how it had truly happened. He was not the same man last week, but the man he was now had to close his eyes and count backward in his head to keep from snapping her up like a ravenous hound might a bit of dropped bacon. He opened his eyes and exhaled softly. His hand lifted to brush along the edge of her face. “You are quite pretty. I cannot say I am not tempted.” 

He bit back a gasp as her hands moved across his hips, stepping closer, bending her head to kiss at his chest. The heat of her breath seeping through the fabric as she laid a path of soft, warm pecks across his pectoral. “I ask nothing of you but this...” Hands slid up, tugging at his shirt until it came untucked. “Be my lover tonight and tomorrow you may go as pleases you.” Her kisses now fell on bare skin, his shirt pushed upward so her mouth could lay a line of fire over his breastbone. He bit back a heady groan when they ranged toward his nipple and he swore under his breath when he felt her tongue’s damp velvet slip against it. 

“Matron’s Mercy, woman, you are playing with fire.” 

“Better to burn than to live this life of cold seclusion, My Lord.” She purred and with a silken smile, she bent her head and lavished the other hardened nip with equal attention.

That was his limit. Her smile was a lover’s, there was no fear, no nervousness, only desire and he would see it in his mind’s eye for a long time, he knew it. He stripped his shirt over his head and threw it aside, tangling his fingers in her hair as her teeth scraped lightly against that now throbbing bit of flesh. “Do not stop.” Hissed as he arched his back a bit. Her hands were moving over his ribcage, down his waist, along his lower back. “Scratch …” he whispered and then laughed softly when she began to react as if he’d sent her after an itch. “ _Nein, mein kleine kätzchen…”_ He set his hands against hers, bending her fingers and then dragging them slowly across his back, not hard enough to hurt, but he could feel the hardness of her nails there and it made his loins give a dull, needful throb. 

He returned his fingers to her hair, the touch of her hands soothing and soft across the spot he’d scratched with them. It made the tender places prickle and burn and he feared he’d go mad if she kept touching him like he was made of glass. Her head lifted and her palms glided over his chest, then strong fingers flexed and she slowly raked down his chest, leaving pink lines beneath the dusting of tawny curls, dragging a very rude word from his lips before he could stop himself. Instantly her lips were there, raining kisses over the scratches, her tongue’s tip tracing one from his breastbone downward and he pulled her away before she reached his navel. 

He looked down at her, saw her eyes searching his face, a hint of fear, but he would smother it before it could grow. He drug her to his mouth, bent to crush her lips in a kiss, his hands moving to wind her hair up and off her back, needing to get to the laces there. He pulled too hard and the cord snapped off in his fingers. Clawing at the bindings he worked them free enough he could drag her dress down. His mouth moved to her neck where it met her shoulder. 

“What is your name?” He bit down lightly against her skin and she squeaked in shock but the sound was one of enjoyment without a doubt. 

“Renata.” Her voice a breathy whisper. 

“I look forward to moaning it.” He eased her dress down, freeing her breasts and letting her drag her arms out of the sleeves. “Gods you are beautiful.” His hands moved to curve beneath each mound, thumb petting to drive the centers to pebble up in want. “Do you want my mouth here, Renata?”

“Yes.”

He was only too happy to oblige. He took turns with each, alternating which would get the kneading caress of his fingers and which hard little bud he suckled and nibbled and teased. Her hand curled into the back of his hair and he was blissful to feel her press him to her, to hear her moans and little breathy gasps of shock. He pulled away, looking down at her. “Take the dress off for me.” he set his hands on her wrists. “Renata, you are doing this for me.” Making certain she understood his meaning. “Your lover wants to see every part of you.” 

She blanched a bit, but the dress was nudged down over her hips slowly, teasingly almost, and when it fell to her feet, he was unable to stop his hand from drifting to rub against himself, aching to be as free of the confines of clothing as she was. “It is a shame you allow me only tonight. I think I could spend weeks just looking at you. Since you are being so stingy,” he let his hand drop. “I will have to be satisfied with what I can get.” Without another word, he bent forward and swept her up into his arms, carrying her over to the bed and setting her down. “I cannot be patient any longer. A lover you want, a lover you shall have.” He sat and tugged his boots off with annoyance and then stood to remove his breeches only to find her sliding across the bed toward him with little scoots that made her seem at once both a woman and a girl. 

“No, please.. Let me.” She swung her legs over the edge of the mattress as he took a half-step back, his hands falling to his sides. Her touch was far from expert or efficient, but it was mind-numbingly erotic none the less. If he did not know better, he’d think she was intentionally letting his laces knot so she could have an excuse to tug and pluck at them and send little vibrations of torment all through him. When she succeeded and slid him free, the relief of being unconfined was short-lived as her hands in tandem softly wound around him. 

“Does this not hurt you, My Lord?” She looked up. “It feels awfully feverish, and I can count your heartbeats easily.” 

“Have a care.” He spoke softly, the sound distant in his own ears. “I am holding on by a thread.” 

“I am only curious, My Lord.” She did not move, nor did she relent her faint grip. He dropped his hand over hers and arched his hips to press himself through the ensnarement of her fingers slowly. The friction was an unbearable pleasure, and he could not stifle a low groan. “Is that born of pain or pleasure, My Lord, I cannot tell.” She murmured, her eyes locked upon the lewd vision before her. 

“Nor can I. Had I a week. A month, a year… I would teach you every trick to make a man your slave with nothing but the touch of your hand. As it is I have been given only tonight and I do not want to waste another stroke.” He pulled her hands away, leaning down and pinning her arms over her head. “Beg.” He could feel her arching under him, her eyes shamelessly darkened as she writhed and her silken thighs parted to rest her knees against his waist, her toes brushing the outside of his hips. 

Her brows lifted in shock and she wriggled slowly, the heat of her radiant against his arousal. “I… I want you inside of me, please. I have never wanted anything so much as this.”

He nodded and with a nudge of his tip against her, awash in heat and damp, he thrust to the root and she screamed, though tonight was not pain but shocked pleasure and he did not seek to stifle it. 

“You are... So perfect.” he rolled his hips as she settled beneath him. He bent against her, his breath ragged in her ear as he began to move his hips more fully. “Tell me how much you need it.” 

“More than breath.” She wrapped her legs around him and dug her heels into his taut backside. “It is wonderous. I never knew…” She moved to meet him, raising her hips to match his thrusts. “Do not stop, please. If I am ruined, let me be utterly so. I … I want to feel you inside me even when you have gone away.” 

He grunted as he let her hands go and pushed up onto his palms to look down at her. “You are so... damned… tempting!” He grit his teeth and almost wept for how good she felt around him. How her body was heating and clenching softly as he demanded her body yield and take all he sought to give. 

Her hands freed, they ran over his arms, his chest, his waist, curving around his back to grip against skin beading with sweat. Her breath swift and shallow, her body rocking against the mattress with every thrust. Her body seemed to be melting around him, slickly devouring him to the root. He was going to lose himself to her far too soon and he was striving to give her every second he could before he did so. 

“Wait.. Wilhelm… you have to stop.” he heard the panic in her voice and swore, he was so very close. “Something is wrong. Hold!” Her eyes were wide and her face betrayed true concern. He stopped, still deep within her, feeling her so tightly around him, her heartbeat and his own racing in almost synchronized cadence. 

He drew deep, slow breaths, his eyes shut as he fought to rein in his runaway lust. “It’s alright.” He withdrew with a hiss of regret and agony to be denied his end. Sliding into the bed he pulled her to lie beside him, his arm cradling her against his chest. He could feel her shaking, her legs twitching faintly against his as she worked to slow her breathing. “May I know what has frightened you?”

“It was so very nice.” She sniffled. “And then it started to feel .. desperate. Like my body wasn’t my own anymore. It was like standing on a high place and your foot slips, but you catch yourself and everything is all tingles and your heart seems to have skipped a beat?” Her look showing she was afraid she couldn’t make him understand what she’d felt.

He looked down at her and smiled slowly. “I see.” he reached out and brushed the hair from her sweat-damp forehead. “What if I were to tell you that is how it is supposed to feel?” 

“It is? I can’t imagine that could be so. It was …” She seemed unable to formulate the words to express it, and gave up. 

“You said that you wanted to be bedded well, did you not?” Lifting his brows. “Then you must let your lover show you the fullness of the experience, or it will not count.” He traced a slow sweeping line along the side of her breast. “Or do you want to live without knowing?”

“I hate ignorance.” She dampened her lips nervously but as he rolled atop her, she was only too willing. Arms around his neck, her legs spread for him, he once again filled her and after a pair of strokes, he pulled her to his chest and twisted so his back was against the mattress and she was mounted atop him. “Oh, hells…” she gasped in his ear, and her grip around him fluttered in tremors of shock. 

“Up.” he urged her to sit up and back, his hands moving up her thighs, over her waist, claiming her breasts as he nudged from below. “Move into me, Renata... Find your pace.” He dropped one hand to her hips to mark her movement, rising, falling, grinding down against him. “Good. Good..” Her head bowed, she bit her lip as she began to move faster, harder, the sound of it was lewdly exciting. “Don’t stop… Everything. I want everything.” His hands took hers, palm to palm, fingers interwoven, he held her up, let her lean down against him as that panicked look again began to rise in her countenance. This time, she did not flinch away. 

He bucked up against her as her restraint snapped and she was thrown into wild ecstasy. She threw her head back and writhed like a demon in Bahamut’s temple. He fought to keep from surpassing his own self-control as around him, she clenched down, every muscle working to drag his seed from him. Tears ran down her face, but he knew they were born of shock and sensation, emotion and want, not pain or regret. Wave after wave assaulted her, and only when they began to ebb did he pull his hands free of hers to grip her hips as he rolled again and pinned her into the mattress. 

“I have chosen to change our bargain. You get your lover as I agreed, but not for a night. I am keeping you, Renata. You are mine. You will warm my bed always.” He pounded down and shuddered as the last thin threads of his control were shredding. “Swear it!”

“Yours! I am yours!” She gasped as she clung to his shoulders and he bellowed as his body went to tension and heat, every drop of his lust pouring out into her, marking her, a secret brand within that only the pair of them could feel. Hours it seemed before his body allowed him to tumble away, panting, into the bed beside her. Greedy, desperate, he reached out instantly and pulled her against him, his leg over hers, his arm draped over her ribcage, as if he feared she’d vanish if he did not hold on to her. 

She was shaking in his embrace, he could hear sounds of muted hitched breaths behind muffling hands. It broke his heart that she was sobbing again, but he knew now it wasn’t misery. Opening his eyes, that was made more than plain when he discovered she was not weeping, but laughing breathlessly as she lay on her back, her breasts trembling with every smothered giggle. 

“It ends for you in tears or laughter, _mein täubchen_ , have you no middle ground?” He teased as he pushed up to one elbow and looked down at her. 

“Forgive me, My Lord. I was just struck by the awareness that this is exactly the same position we were in the first night we shared a bed.” Her mirthful eyes glinting as she looked up at him. “Excepting that I was dressed.” She reached up and ran her fingertips over his forearm idly as it rested above her belly. “You held me like this, curled up and snoring, and for hours I laid there, in your arms, wishing I could lie there forever. Enjoying the idea of being your lover more than I thought possible.” She smiled faintly. “So when you wanted to marry me, I knew I couldn’t accept.” 

“Because a wife doesn’t lust after her husband?” He lifted his arm from around her only long enough to brush her hair back from her face. “Is that wall going to keep me forever from my wife?” 

“I think it is cracked now, My Lord. I may feign that your touch does not move me when we are outside this room, but within, I will never do so” 

“Good.” he leaned in and kissed her softly on the lips, a tender tasting that sparked a warmth that filled every part of him. Sinking back down beside her, snuggling her as his chin rested atop her head, inhaling deeply the sweet smell of lilac and lust that now radiated from her skin. He felt sated and content and hopeful. A moment was all he got, however, as he reminded himself that it would soon wither away like dead leaves from a winter-taken tree. As he sank to sleep, he wished, as she had confessed she had, that they could be like this forever.


	23. Chapter 23

She woke to darkness, her skin damp with sweat and the air slightly stuffy. Again she was alone in her husband’s bed, though there was no pain when she moved, only a dull sort of lovely ache that reminded her the night before. She blinked and rubbed at her eyes, discovering when they focused that she had not, as she thought, slept through the day. The heavy bed curtains had been closed. She fumbled for a moment, trying to find a way out and when she did part the heavy drapes, she drew back with a wince, as the sunshine penetrated the crack. “Ow.” She covered her eyes with her hand and pulled the curtain open, slowly letting her fingers spread until she could open her eyes without pain. 

“Good morning, M’lady.” Lucinda’s voice intruded softly from across the room. 

She blinked at her and smiled politely as she held the sheet to her naked self, peeking out of the space in the curtain. “Good morning, Lucinda.” She could see she was holding her dressing gown. “Will you bring it to me, please?” 

Taking it, she wrapped it around herself quickly, working to stem the tide of shame that threatened to swallow her. She glanced at Lucinda who did not look shocked or disapproving. Another sign that perhaps she had been wrong in her thinking all this time. “What time is it?”

“It is just past the midday hour, M’lady. His Lordship bade me to let you sleep for as long as you needed.” She smiled. “He ordered me to tell you that if you did not wish to return to your rooms to do so, you are free to use his bathing room to prepare for your day. Also, to convey that he wishes to speak with you in the library whenever you are up to it.” 

“I understand.” She nodded to herself and when Lucinda didn’t move, she sighed a bit, realizing the girl was waiting for her orders. “Please start the water heating and then assure His Lordship knows I will be down within the hour.” 

“Of course, M’lady. What dress shall I fetch for you today?” 

“The light brown will be fine.”

“I will let His Lordship’s man know to tell His Lordship you are up and getting ready, M’Lady.” She bowed and stepped through a side door through which Renata could see the brazier lit and a large kettle put over it, obviously, it had been prepared and left in wait for her eventual waking. 

When Lucinda had gone, she padded into the washing room. It was smaller than her own, no large copper tub or long cabinet with mirrors. There was a washstand with a smaller oval mirror and an open box whose interior contained a folded razor as well as brushes and combs of various sizes and uses. 

The kettle heated, she pumped cold water into the tub and added the steaming until it was brisk but not skin-chilling. She washed quickly, emptying the tub down the garderobe and using the large woven towel to scrub herself dry. Lucinda returned with the dress and a basket which held her toiletries. She twisted her hair into a tight chignon at the nape of her neck but left her head uncovered. Let him see she was at least attempting to be the sort of wife he seemed to want. The hour had almost passed, and with quiet slippered steps, she made her way to the library. 

She felt a pang of something heavy and hot in her chest when she reached the door. Wilhelm stood, leaning over a table, something there being discussed with his brother and his man Caspar. He was every inch the Lord of the Manor, his features serious and an air of command hung on him, illuminating him from within. When he turned and his blues touched her, she could swear there had been a jolt of shock, as happened in winter when woolen rugs and iron door handles did not mix. Her breath caught and she set a palm to her stomach to quell the feeling that a flame had been lit there and then was swarmed by a colony of moths.

“Forgive my intrusion, My Lord.” She bowed her head respectfully. “I will adjourn to the sitting room until your business is concluded.” 

“No, we are finished, for now, Lady Wilhelm,” Matthias said with a crooked grin toward Wilhelm that radiated mischief before he glanced back. “He is all yours.” A twitch of his head towards the door as he nudged Caspar lightly with an elbow then headed toward her. He paused just to the other side. “Perhaps when you have finished with my brother, we may have a chance to speak as you offered?”

“I will happily aid however I can, _Juncherre_.” She gave a polite nod of agreement. “If My Lord has no other task for me to attend to.” She did not look toward Wilhelm but hoped that he understood she was making it clear that anything he asked of her was paramount. 

“Of course.” Caspar too gave a look in Wilhelm’s direction, though it was far more filled with unspoken conversation. He paused as he passed and gave a polite bow from the shoulders. “A pleasant day to you, Lady Wilhelm.”  
.  
The men made their way out and Wilhelm rolled up the papers that had been laid out across the table. The door closed, and they were alone. She laced her fingers together, letting them hang before her. “My Lord, may I say I am grateful for your allowance that I be allowed to sleep in. I feel quite refreshed.”

“You needed the rest. Neither of us have had enough sleep this week.” He stood behind the table with his arms tucked behind him. “I was told you had compiled a list of things you believed needed addressing. I would like to take some time and discuss the items in detail, as well as a few other things that I have been neglectful to not attend yet.” 

“Yes, My Lord, I have ..” she walked across to a shelf where she had put the notepad she’d been carrying the day before, having left it secure in the library in hopes this talk would come. “I fear it may seem somewhat extensive, but I do not imagine all the changes should be undertaken instantly. Some are just possibilities for the future.” Spoken as she turned and nearly walked right into him. “Oh! My Lord, I did not hear your footsteps.” 

Her words cut off when he pulled her toward him and kissed her warmly on the lips. Her hands, both wrapped around the small pad, were trapped between her body and his. For several seconds she basked in the delight of his lips before the kiss was broken. 

“Good morning.” His nose brushed against hers a moment. “How fares your wall today?”

“It is there, My Lord. The years have made it stalwart but a great volley was cast against it recently. Its fall is inevitable.” She wanted him to understand she was not yet so free as he seemed to wish her to be, but she was far better than she’d been. 

“If I were to share with you...” he smiled teasingly. “That as I stand here, I am contemplating bending you across the table and having at you without mercy or pause until you can no longer stand and I am forced to carry you about the house like a queen in a sedan, what happens to the wall?” 

She lifted her eyes from his tempting lips to his eyes. He was teasing her. She felt that spirit of mischief rise up. “I cannot say, My Lord.” Her arms drifted down to her sides. “Now that you made mention of it, I find myself driven to imagine I was being made to read aloud with placid voice while you do so. Ensuring no ear at the door would hear what was secretly occurring. I cannot determine if that is a strengthening of the wall or a weakening.”

His mouth tightened and he stiffened faintly. “Were I not wholly serious about why I called you here I would not hesitate now to indulge you in that fancy, Renata.” His voice low in volume and pitched like a growl almost as he devoured her with his eyes. “Do not worry. I will remember it.” 

“Please do, Wilhelm.” She used his name because it felt sinful on her tongue. Intimate and daring. 

“The list.” he stepped back and moved to sit behind the table again. “What is item one.” 

She slid into a chair nearby and opened the book. “Most of the first items are to do with the rooms I was given.” 

“They are not to your liking?” He sounded a bit offended. 

“They are beautiful, My Lord, but your mother’s taste was a bit more floral and boisterous than my own. I would, if allowed, make the room more neutral. I speak only of the decor and the paint. The furnishings are lovely.” 

He chuckled under his breath. “The flowers are, perhaps, a bit much. Agreed. You have my permission to change the room to suit your tastes. Whatever you decide is unsuitable, I will have taken away to the attic. I’ll send word for the draper to bring heavier fabric as well.”

“The draper, My Lord?”

“One of the items I wanted to speak with you about when your list was done. You haven’t nearly enough clothes. I have seen the dress you are wearing now twice and we have been wed less than a week. I have sent for a draper and a team of seamstresses to come from Rexxentrum. They will be here at week’s end..” 

“I see.” She reflexively felt rebuttal on her tongue and stopped it from being said. He was right. She was not a chatelaine now. She was Lady Wilhelm of Ravenswood, and she did require a few things. “You are very generous, My Lord. I will be sure to ask advice on what fabrics are best for life in the Eastern lands.” 

“I trust your judgment.” He spoke magnanimously with a wave of his hand. “Back the list.” 

As together they worked through the items, he agreed about the cobbles and the roof of the stables, admitted the cook would probably benefit from a coat of paint and table to make the kitchen feel like hers and not her aunt’s, he even made a note to send for a glazier as soon as they left the library, but at the mention of the garden, his mood shifted a bit. 

“The garden was my mother’s,” he admitted with a small frown. “I can’t bring myself to see it torn apart, even to make it beautiful again.” 

She nodded, understanding his dilemma. “That was one of the items that was meant as a project for some future date. There is no hurry, My Lord.” 

He was looking pensively down at the table, tapping lightly with his index against the wood. “I have been thinking about your rooms since you mentioned they were not to your taste.” 

“My Lord, please understand, I did not mean to insult your generosity or your mother’s style choices.”

“No, no…” he gave a half-smile. “Stop apologizing, I am neither offended or angry. If you do wish your rooms renovated, you will need to abdicate them while the work is being done.” His fingertip ran slow idle swaths across the polished oak. “I have been thinking as well of your wicked grandfather’s secret staircase.” 

“My grandfather was not wicked!” She gasped. “He was …” She found herself unable to find a defense. “He was always good to me.” 

“Forgive me.” He lifted his hands upward to show his capitulation. “My point is that I could, if you were agreeable to the situation, put you into a room nearer to my own. Sharing a common door with my private study. It is currently the armory. Not the real one, of course, that is in the courtyard with the guardhouse, but my family’s personal collection of weapons and such. I could suffer to have it put elsewhere for the time it takes to alter your rooms.” 

She understood his meaning quite well. If there was a shared door, she could visit his room and never step foot in the hallway where she would be seen. “My Lord, it is a kind offer, but it is a change of draperies and bedding. New cushions for the chairs. It will hardly take long enough to justify a move.” 

“Oh, you know how these things are, Renata.” His eyes on the table’s edge where he was still tracing his fingers along the polished surface. “Once you begin a simple task, inevitably something comes up. Plaster is discovered to be cracked, new stonework is required under the window, the wood is warped around the door…” he shrugged. “It could take months.” 

She bit back her smile and nodded, keeping her tone even and her face agreeable. “I know that is often true, My Lord. You go out to pull weeds and by afternoon you’re digging a new well.” 

“Yeess..” his drawing out of the word and the look he gave were token of not knowing the exact details of the story, but getting the gist. “I will see that the new room is prepared by week’s end.” 

“Your benevolence is appreciated, My Lord.” She checked her notes, making sure she had not forgotten anything she wished to discuss. “That concludes my list, I think.” 

“It cannot!” He said as he looked up, sounding shocked. 

“I… no, My Lord. That … that is all.” She feared she’d done something wrong. 

“This place is a mausoleum!” he said with a huff of almost indignance. “It is drafty and dark and everything is bleak and sad and… sharp!” He stabbed upward with his index. “It is nothing at all like your home. I know there must be a true list, an honest list, that is far more comprehensive.” 

“My Lord, please.” She looked toward the door quickly, fearful his raised voice might carry. “It is the only list I made. I admit to wanting to make some improvements, I have now brought them to you, but I don’t want to change anything too greatly. True it is old and sharp and a bit shadowy, but that is suitable and beautiful and I would not wish it to be Rosenfeld for all the world’s riches.” She lifted her chin, folding her hands in her lap. “Now, apologize for implying I was a liar.” 

“I never said you were a liar, Renata.” He huffed. “I merely insinuated that...” 

“That my list was not honest.” She finished for him. 

He growled a bit and stood, his hands flexing at his side. “Vexing woman, I merely thought you were trying to be kind to me. That you hate this place is only sensible.”

“It is nothing of the kind.” She rose and set her hand on his arm, seeking to soothe his temper. “I do not have to make this place Rosenfeld to make it my home. Home is where one finds happiness, and I am, I assure you, more than content.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose and shook his head faintly, then nodded. “If you say it, I will choose to believe you.” 

“Thank you. You are a most benevolent Lord indeed.” Her eyes demure but the twitch at the edge of her lips proved she was teasing him gently for being a bit of a ninny. “Now, you said there were things you wanted to discuss that were not to do with the list? The drapers already being mentioned, were there other items we should address?”

“Yes.” he took a step back. “We have a great deal to discuss.” He pulled a ledger from the shelf and set it down, opening it. “First, I wish to know how you wish to receive your allowance.”

“My what?” She moved to stand behind him, looking down at the books, having to take a while to decipher both his writing and his personal style of bookkeeping. 

“Your allowance. Your personal money for things you desire so you do not have to come to me each time you want a new dress or some bauble catches your eye. This is, of course, separate to the household account which you will also be in charge of.” 

“Oh, well, what about it needs discussion, My Lord?” 

“How much do you think you will need? Would two hundred gold a month be sufficient?”

“Two hund…” She gasped softly. “My Lord, that is a fortune. I need not a quarter of that for what I might spend in my personal needs.” She paused as the thought of sending it to Yrrosa sparked another thought. “ My Lord, fifty is a very generous amount, and you would allow I spend it in my own way?” 

“It is yours, Renata. Do as you please with it.” he marked down upon a blank line _**Renata ~ 100 GP ~ R ~ P.O.M**_. “The last two notes are to show this deduction repeats and is paid out monthly so you will have coin in hand.” He explained as he let the ink dry. 

“You put one hundred, My Lord.” She chided softly. “Which is not what we agreed upon.” 

“I never agreed to a damned thing. You countered my offer, I simply settled on something in the middle. That, _mein täubchen_ is how negotiation usually works.” 

She narrowed her eyes but did not fight him. “If you say so, My Lord, I will not argue.” A small hinted smile at her lips. 

“A choice I commend. A fine choice and I hope you make it very often.” He closed the ledger and turned, setting his rump on the edge of the table, his legs crossed at the ankles as he leaned there casually. 

“Is that all you desired to talk about, My Lord?” 

“No.” He sobered a bit. “That is not all. We must discuss last night.” 

“Oh.” She bowed her head a bit. “What of it, My Lord?” Her heart felt thick and high in her throat, still unable to shake her fear that the weight of his condemnation was about to fall upon her. 

“You went out of the castle without an escort, without telling anyone where you were going. It was unsafe and unwise. I, as your Lord and your husband, must put my foot down and make it very clear, Renata, you are never to do that again. I do not threaten idly. I have given you great leeway in that you are not now leashed as I promised I would do if you put what is mine into danger.” he chucked under her chin with his bent index to make her look up. “Do not do it again.” 

She understood his reasoning, but still, she shook her head. “My Lord, I am accustomed to being free to walk about at night when the mood takes me. I enjoy, as do you, I believe, to wander and enjoy the feel of air and nature around me. If I give my word that when I go out, I will tell someone where I am going, and I promise to limit my walks to the grounds and no further, will you allow that I am free to go, without an escort, when I feel too confined?”

“No.” He gave a faint shake of his head. “You will have someone with you capable of protecting you if you choose to leave the castle. Ideally, I will go with you. If I am unavailable, I will have a guard appointed to the task.” He reached up and slid his palm over her jaw, his thumb petting her cheek. “Do not fight me on this. You will not win.” 

“I will bend to this, My Lord. I choose to believe you are acting from a place of concern and care, and not because you wish me a prisoner here.” 

“I do not know you well yet, Renata, but I know enough to say that you would not react well to being a prisoner.” His hand slid so the pad of his thumb could brush against her lower lip. “Though you would look fetching in chains.” 

She shuddered and almost licked at her lips to quell the tickle he left behind but knew that his thumb would be under the same caress. “My Lord..” She lifted her hand to wrap around his wrist. “I do not know you well either. I would very much like to play the copper game again soon so that we may, little by little, erode the ignorance we share of one another.” A small smile offered. “Though I will surely win next time.” 

“You are so very sure of that?”

“Sure enough that I will give you three and keep only one for myself.” 

“My Lady, I accept your challenge.” Taking her hand, he kissed her knuckles. “Tonight, we play. For now, I believe you should go tell the cook of the upcoming renovations and eat a bit. I will attend to prepare for the other items we have discussed. I will see you tonight at dinner, Renata?” 

“Yes, My Lord.” She smiled and gave his hand a faint squeeze. “Until tonight.”


	24. Chapter 24

As the days passed into weeks, Wilhelm had to admit his wife was a rare thing. She had, without complaint, stood for hours while the seamstresses pinned and poked and attempted to ply her with the latest fashions and the richest fabrics only to wind up selling her just one elegant dress in case she might need to attend a court function, three new simple day dresses, a working apron, and a heavier cloak edged in rabbit fur, as well as mittens for when winter struck. The fabric chosen for her room was simple and sturdy fabric of dove gray accented with deeper heather and soft white. To his delight, she also bought a bolt of sunshine yellow with tiny white daisies she confessed was to outfit the nursery when the time came.

He had no doubt she would take up the reins of the household ably, and she did so, employing a mixture of generosity and steel-edged demand for one’s best. She was gracious, but unyielding and the castle had never run better. The rooms were immaculate. Every dust bunny hunted to extinction and every ghostly ancient cobweb banished. The windows, which were all but opaque with the buildup from years of being ignored, were cleaned to the point that he began to consider buying draperies to protect the furnishings from all the sunlight they were now being bathed in. She was at once both the sort of woman he expected she would be, and a never-ending source of surprise. 

That which amazed him most as time passed was her unparalleled dichotomy. When they were anywhere that could be considered public, she was warm, but only just. She gave no winks, no innuendos, no hint of the woman she was when he would retire at night, hanging on tenterhooks waiting for the sound of the door to his study opening, sign of her making her way to him to share his bed with passion and exuberance. She was a keen student of reciprocity. The firebird of passion that tumbled into his arms at night awoke each day a gentle dove. Her cool facade outside of that room was, to him, torturous. 

He began to see things as seduction that he knew were not done with intention to cull a response of that sort. The brushing back of a loose strand from her cheek as she read in the library set his stomach to clench. His body heated at the stretch of her body reaching up to scratch a horse behind his ear. He fantasized about being the spoon her soup rode to her soft lips upon. One afternoon, as he was meeting with a trio of local vitners about their crops, he found his attention kept shifting to her as she sat in the corner of the sitting room with her embroidery hoop. The needle thrust into the fabric, the slither-tickle of thread drawn slowly tighter, slender fingers capturing the tiny steel shaft as it was driven upward, in… out… in… over and over, tension building with each tight stitch until he was forced to excuse himself to seek respite in a private spot, driven to take himself in hand until he was able to keep his mind on grapes. 

They played what she called ‘the copper game’ often, though it was really only an excuse to gain insight. He was not always comfortable talking about the things she asked, for she did not shy from places that were dark or deep, but he found that speaking of his youth, of his father, of his time in Rexxentrum, made it somehow easier to think about in retrospect. Like a child who feared a monster beneath the bed was freed of his fear when he took the risk to look and see there was nothing there. He began to see his father as a flawed man, fearful in his way, stubborn and foolish. 

“He did not have the wisdom to know your brilliance, Wilhelm.” She reassured him, his head in her lap, her fingers petting through the strands at his temple. “It is the strong man that acknowledges that there are many paths to the same goal. That someone is on another path does not make your road less correct. That is your vengeance, Wilhelm. He died ignorant. You live enlightened.”

He had often replayed those words in his mind. They were the counterspell to the dangerous voice from the past that told him he was without value. He trusted her opinion, and she thought he was more than acceptable. When he needed her, she was there. Never did she not come to him when he desired her, save for those few disappointing days each month when her body denied them both the joy of knowing their union had been fruitful. The disappointment of that arrival was always met with a renewed desire to keep trying when it had passed her by. 

As the weeks turned into months, she no longer occupied his every waking thought. No longer haunted his dreams. He thought of her often, oh yes, but it was a warmth rather than the wild conflagration that left him unable to function. His memories of her were as much of the mundane as the carnal. He valued her company. He desired her body. But he could eat. He could sleep. He could think. Seeing her with Matthias or Caspar, or any other man did not make him rise with bile in his throat and blood in his eyes, consumed by jealousy. 

When summer fruits began to give way to the crisp leaves and bright colors of autumn he expected that he would begin to find his gaze wandering. On his trips to Rexxentrum or to Druvenlode, he saw countless women, but felt nothing. They were beautiful, doubtless, and often both flirtatious and willing, but inevitably they would move in a certain way or say a random word that would drag Renata to his mind and he swiftly grew bored with their attempts to ensnare his eye. In such times, whatever business he’d been pursuing would be concluded quickly so he could return to Ravenswood and its Lady. 

Such was the impetus that had driven him to return home two days earlier than he had planned, riding with Caspar, a guard at the fore, and one behind as the miles melted away.  
“I have never said it,” Wilhelm broke the agreeable quiet they had been sharing as they rode. “But I wish to both thank you, and apologize.” 

“Oh, gratitude and an admittance of wrongdoing? Is it my birthday?” The dark-haired man grinned. “Do continue, Wil.” 

“I have no doubt that you played a larger role in things than I thought.” He glanced over, brows lifted in curiosity. “What I do not know is how far back your machinations may be traced. Was it you who put forth the idea of Margareta to _der Kronprinz_ or did he simply wish to see me made utterly miserable?”

“I did not suggest her Wil, but that was only because I would never have presumed to push you into marriage at all. Kronprinz Ludwig, I am certain, only meant to see you to a beautiful wife who everyone spoke of as if the sun itself crept out of her _muschi_ each morning. I made many inquiries, but everyone said the same, so I thought you could do worse than to marry someone all claimed was an angel come to Wildemount to walk among us pitiful mortals.” he gave a dramatic sigh. “Had I known, I would have stopped you before you ever considered crossing the Zemni Fields.”

“It is wise that you did not, I suppose.” Wilhelm was forced to admit. 

“Indeed.” Caspar drew a deep breath in, looking around at the spreading orchards that flanked the road. “I did not even know she had a sister until we both saw her coming out with her father. I could see in your eyes there was interest, and I decided to get the measure of the lady. Once I had seen her generous spirit, her industriousness, her open nature, I thought perhaps her sister, being raised in the same house, would be like her. I saw in an instant that they were opposite as platinum and pig iron.” 

“That is putting it mildly. I do not see how they can share the same upbringing.” 

“You shared the same upbringing as Constantin, did you not?” Caspar said with gentleness. 

“True.” Wilhelm had to admit that there was a point there. Sometimes siblings were quite different. 

“Anyway, I determined to test you. See if you would be amenable to switching targets. When I saw the way you spoke of her, the disappointment in your eye when I hinted she was only watching you for the sake of business, I knew you might be persuaded. I intended to tell you in the morning that I thought it would be wiser to court Renata instead, but…” Caspar grinned to himself. “Your lady was far too quick for me. The moment I saw you pacing, so upset at everything that stood between you and her, I could tell you wanted her. That was enough for me to help you make the right choice. In that, I do plead guilty to, what did you call it, machinations? I think I made the right choice, not only for you, but for her.”

“Well…” Wilhelm often felt he had really done very little for her. “I took her from her homeland, everything she loved and knew, drug her across the Zemni Feilds to a drafty, dark, morose castle that only by her own hard work is even liveable.” 

Caspar looked toward him, shaking his head. “Without you, she would be in Yrrosa still. Chained as chatelaine to her father’s side, having all the strain, all the work of being Lord of the Manor and none of the benefits. She would have served him until he died, and then the lands would have gone to Margareta and her husband, whomever he might be. Renata would have had only two choices. Remain the family mule, or be without the only home she had ever known.”

“So, my improvements are simply that I made her my mule instead?” 

“Well, some habits die hard.” Caspar drawled in a way that made it clear he had information that Wilhelm did not. 

“What is that tone? Tell me what you know.” He drew back on the reins a bit, eyeing Caspar suspiciously.

“Well, your mule, as you called her, must be exceptionally strong as she is pulling two wagons.” He shifted in his saddle as he drew a deep breath. “It seems her father was persuaded to hire a man to cover the sudden absence of his chatelaine. A man who your wife sent, and who she supplies with a goodly portion of gold each week with her letters. He sends a copy of the newest ledger entries and she copies them into her own book, then sends back word of how he is to proceed over the next week. I happened to intercept a letter and she told me everything.” 

Wilhelm frowned. “Swore you to secrecy did she?” A pang of jealousy, not as familiar as it once was, rose up from the depths. She had shared with Caspar something important that she was hiding from her own husband. 

“Oh, hardly.” Caspar chuckled. “She made no secret of it. I asked if you knew, and she said you did not, but that you had said she might spend her allowance as pleased her. I asked if she wished me to keep her confidence, and she said not to be silly. She said it was a fact that was there if you wished to know it, same as how many jars of pickles are in the pantry or when the last broom was purchased. ‘It is beneath his notice.’ she said.” 

His mood turned a bit, the jealousy ebbing, but another feeling rose in its absence. Perhaps he was taking her for granted. If she were doing so well on the managing of the household in Ravenswood, and still managed to be running things, via proxy anyway, in Yrrosa, he had to admit she was even better than he’d given her credit for. “I suppose old habits do die hard.” He could not blame her for wishing to take care of her family. He did not like them, but she loved them, and that would be enough. “Thank you though, for telling me. I will find a way to discover the information on my own and speak with her about it. I will not forbid it, but perhaps encourage her to slowly send less and less. They will never learn if she does it for them always.” 

“You mentioned there was an apology as well? I am feeling particularly forgiving today so, please, throw yourself upon my mercy ere it wanes, My Lord.” 

“Oh.” Wilhelm felt a little silly having to now confess his fault aloud. “When I first brought Renata home, I admit to being terribly jealous. Any man who looked at her for three seconds joined was barely spared my wrath. I am sure Matthias told you I actually struck him for attempting to console her. You, however, were the most dangerous.” 

“Me?!” Caspar laughed.

“Oh, you were the very devil in my thoughts. I cast a fantastical scenario. You had desired her for yourself, but knew you, having no title, would not be able to persuade her father to give her to you, nor did you have the time to woo her for yourself. So, you tricked me into choosing her so I would bring her home where you could, over time, ingratiate yourself into her life and paint me as a brute and miscreant. The more I feared it, the more of an ass I was to her, and then I would see her hurt and envision you being the shoulder on which she cried as you stole her for your own.” 

“To cuckold my Lord, not to mention my dearest friend, in his own home? Honestly, Wilhelm…” Caspar chuckled and shook his head. “I am fond indeed of my Lady, and think she is an able woman, a gentle soul, and, yes, Wilhelm, very beautiful, but I have no desire to steal your wife. She is all good things for you, but, being honest, she is …” he seemed to wish to be both honest and not insult his Lady. “She is too able. My sort of wife would be more dependant. More needful of me. She would gaze at me as though I hung the moons and that I could do no wrong. My Lady looks at me and sees through my _kuhscheiße_ too easily.” 

“She is remarkably able at that, yes.” he chuckled softly. “I wished to say I am sorry I ever thought such things. I was in love, and we know well what that does to men.”

“Was?” Caspar queried. “You are not still?”

Wilhelm felt conflicted. Had he not always been told that love was fleeting? It had. He was no longer prisoner to that desperate, wild feeling where every thought was of her, and he could not function without wondering what she was doing and where she was. Overcome with jealousy every moment she was not in his line of sight. He felt something else. It was a warm glowing coals feeling. A hot bath and sweet wine sensation. It was certainly not the capricious heart-throbbing madness that he knew to be the state of love. “I have loved countless women, Caspar,” he said with a cavalier tone he did not feel. “As have you. When one love fades, always there will come another to tempt.” 

Caspar moved at his side, his face turned forward, not looking in his direction, but his words were cool and utterly without jest. “I view you as a brother, Wilhelm, but if you bring a mistress into that house I will part company from you and I will take Lady Renata away with me.”

“I thought you said you did not have such feelings for her and now you threaten to steal her away?” He was growing angry now at the sudden turn.

“True, I do not love her, but better she be with a man she does not love who will not hurt her than suffer watching the one she does love break her heart.”

“Ha!” he snorted derisively. “Proof you don’t know her at all. I have seen countless women in love. Never once has Renata stamped her foot or turned to counterfeit tears to get her way over me. She does not pry where she is not wanted, she does not demand gifts and flattery and proof of my attention being hers and hers alone.” He counted off on his fingers as he spoke. “In fact,” he held up his index. “She encourages me to go. To attend meetings that keep me away for days and when I return she does not drain me further with demands to listen to every trifle and detail of her day until I am ready to throw myself from a great height. You, in fact, have made more demands on me in the last half hour than she has in the entirety of our marriage.” He gave a good-natured chuckle “Fear not. Your threat was not required. Should I decide I crave a mistress, I will keep her far from the castle, you may have my assurance.” 

He felt a hard ache in his stomach to even say he might. The thought frankly seemed not only disloyal to a woman who had done much to make him happy but almost repugnant because in his mind’s eye he saw only her face. Only her figure. He could not even imagine wanting to court desire in the arms of another. 

“Do keep her close though. If your father did not keep his mistress close to home, I would never have had occasion to befriend you.” 

Wilhelm blanched. Lord Aneselm, Caspar's father, had been his father’s second-in-command from his war days. He had perished in battle and his lady and young son had taken a small cottage near to the castle. Wilhelm had never put together the reason they were installed so conveniently. When Lady Anselm had passed away, his father had all but adopted Caspar, taking him in and seeing he was educated. Now he saw it with new eyes and was unsure what to say. “I… I did not know.”

“It does not matter.” Caspar was stoic and erect in his seat, his head high and his eyes focused ahead. Obviously, it mattered a great deal, but he did not want to talk about it, and so Wilhelm chose not to press it. 

They reached the town, the populace pausing and bowing respectfully as he passed, calling out respectful greeting. Myriad variations of ‘Pleasant day to you, My Lord’ called out from shops and corners. The journey slowed by the servants of the wealthier villagers coming out into the road to express their master or mistress’s desire to have an audience, or, Wilhelm noted, more than one who wished only that he pass on their employer’s gratitude for something Lady Wilhelm had done in his absence. 

He smelled it just a moment before he saw it. A rising plume of smoke from the castle. Heels dug in and his mount lurched forward, racing toward the gate with panic choking him. The moment he entered the courtyard he could see the cause. A large pile of branches and dead bushes and other bracken was ablaze, burning fast. Beyond it, her work dress dirty, her hands in protective gloves of leather, his wife was pulling the last vestiges of his mother’s flowerbeds out of the ground and throwing them onto the fire. 

He was livid. Had he not told her to leave the garden alone! Sliding down and stalking toward her he grabbed her by her arms and threw her around to face him. “What do you think you are doing?! I forbade you to touch this garden and now look what you've done! It is ruined!” He could not admit that he was angry because she had scared him. It was easier to shout about the garden. Stalwartly she stood and looked at him with an expression of patience and anticipation as he spoke. He eventually just ran out of words and fell silent, glowering. 

“I fully expected to be done before you returned home, My Lord. That I have gone against your will is not in contention. I will apologize for any hurt it might have caused, but this is my home as well, and that garden was out of hand. A chance to fix it was presented to me, and I took it.” She did not shout, did not sharpen her voice, but spoke with a matter-of-fact manner that he found difficult to shout in response to. 

“It’s gone! The only thing I had left to remind me of my mother, her pride and joy, the only thing she ever really loved and you’ve burned it up. You killed it!” He gestured toward the space, now seeming empty and dark. 

“No!” She snapped with a bit of pique and then with swift blinking and a tightening of her lips, she met his eyes, her leather gloves pulled off as she lifted her chin. “You were killing it.” She turned and stalked away. 

He moved to follow her, determined not to let her have the last word when motion caught his eye. At the center of the garden, a figure stepped into the freshly turned black soil, a gnarled walking stick in hand, his ragged coat hanging loosely around a scarecrow-like frame. His head was smooth and brown as a nut, dark swaths of some sort of tattoos covering his scalp, his cheeks, his neck, his hands and arms as he lifted them up, sleeves sliding down. He set the stick in the dirt and slid it in a slow arc, turning in place until he’d made a circle in the soil around his bare feet. Almost instantly, verdant sprigs seemed to erupt from the soil, spreading like spilled ale across a tavern table. 

Within minutes, the garden was brilliant with color and life, the air rife with the smells of flowers and growth. Flowers and hedges, bushes and cultivated trees that spread upward then erupted leaves that turned deep emerald and glossy as they shielded the occasional small bench situated here and there from the sun above. Coiling vines rose up along the columns of the small stone gazebo then like heated grains of dried popping corn, erupted in flashes of deep pink and reds as the roses bloomed. Like a visual shiver, the garden trembled faintly, then settled to calm, disturbed only faintly when the breeze lifted. 

The man stepped back onto the path, a pair of worn leather sandals waiting for each dirt-caked foot to slide into. He walked toward him, seemingly only passingly aware of the Lord’s stunned presence. “The garden is grateful.” His voice sounded like wind blowing over broken reeds and it made the hair on Wilhelm’s neck prickle faintly. “We thank you for the cuttings.” He patted a dirt-speckled canvas bag that hung at his hip beneath the baggy robe. He gave a low bow and then walked away through the courtyard and out before Wilhelm could manage to pull his wits together. 

Again he looked over the garden. It was not his mother’s garden, not quite. There were dozens of commonalities to be sure. Trees and bushes and plants that he recalled from childhood were all there, but there were touches that made it seem different as well. There was a lack of regimented straightness to the rows of tulips. They were mingled in colors and styles. There were, at the back of the garden, a row of lilac bushes, hanging heavily with scented clusters of white and lavender-hued blossoms that made every breeze feel like she was there. 

He stood transfixed for almost ten minutes before he could force himself to turn and walk toward the castle. He found her after a bit of searching, standing in the conservatory, arms folded, looking through the wall of glass panes out into the garden. 

“Who was that.” He inquired, his temper long since faded, replaced with a terrible ache of regret. 

“That was Adalwin Greenbriar. He, and a group of druids in his company, arrived three days ago on a journey toward the Pearlbow Wilderness. For a good price, they used their skills to ensure that the fields of Ravenswood will be more than fertile for the next year.” Her tone was quiet and he could hear that she was hurt. “Their band collects seeds and cuttings from all over Wildemount and even into Tal’Dorei. If there should be a blight and a rose that grows only in Whitestone, for example, should be eradicated in its homeland, there remains hope it can be restored from the archive these druids keep.” She glanced back across her shoulder, eyes slightly reddened. “For the trade of access to bits of plants from Ravenswood, Adalwin said he would end the torment of your mother’s garden. He said he could sense it was choking to death, and it pained him. Druids.” She gave a small ‘who can understand them’ shrug. “I had hoped to have this done before you arrived, but in the end I am glad you got to see it wakened.” 

“I should not have shouted at you.” He began. “My mother loved that garden. She would be very happy that it is beautiful again. Thank you.” 

Renata turned, eyeing him as she let her folded arms fall. “I have been spending a great deal of time listening since I arrived here. To you, to your brother, your servants.” She walked towards him and stopped just out of his reach. “You are still angry at her. At your mother. When your father was treating you so horribly, she would go into her garden and hide herself. She did not speak up for you, and it wounded you.” 

“That’s ridiculous.” he huffed, though he felt a small flutter at the back of his thoughts. 

“Your mother was just a woman. She had no choice in her husband, had nearly lost one son, almost died herself… Do you not think it hurt her as well when your father spoke to you as he did? All she heard was how she had failed him. How of three sons she gave him only one worth anything at all? Can you not imagine what that did to her? She nearly lost her life attempting to please him only to have the fact it was a girl, another failure by your father’s way of thinking, thrown into her face. Then, he turned from her. He would not touch her for years. For a decade she lived believing she was unloved and unwanted. Trapped here, wallowing in self-pity and too blind to see how you were hurting. One drunken night, your father had lost his leman, his need was there and your mother was at hand and so your brother was conceived. An accident that gave her hope he might forgive her.” Her eyes glinted with unshed tears. “Imagine being that desperate for a crumb of appreciation. Of understanding or gratitude or affection and getting nothing except one thing.” She looked at him expectantly. 

He did not want to think about what she was saying. His father was a cruel man, that was not a secret. Wilhelm thought about it. Never had he heard his father tell his mother ‘thank you’ for anything. No kind words except… he looked up at her, her words bringing memories to him that now, in retrospect, were vital. “He praised her garden. It was the only thing I can ever remember him telling her she had done right.” Like a shirt of lead the weight of this thought was bearing down on him. “Matron’s Mercy…” he shook his head softly looking past her through the windows at the garden that now had been made beautiful again.

“Tomorrow, perhaps you can take some to the memorial. She is gone, but perhaps your Raven Queen will convey to her whatever you might wish to say. Like the garden, sometimes you must clear away the past for the future to blossom.” 

He could not find his tongue to speak. She had a way of saying things that made a sort of sense he had never thought of. Again he was brought to mind of a child with monsters under the bed one by one dispelled because she took his hand and made him name them. Showed them to be nothing more than shadows that had no power over him. She excused herself and he did not stop her. Hours passed just standing in the conservatory until darkness had fallen and he could no longer see anything in the window but his own reflection.


	25. Chapter 25

She was in the process of putting the newly finished cushions on the chairs in her sitting room when he cleared his throat in the doorway, causing her to turn and regard him. He felt perturbed and uncomfortable, and he knew it showed the moment she spoke. 

“Good evening, My Lord, is all well with you?” Concern knitting her brow. 

“No. Well, I’m fine, yes. I just wanted to thank you for what you did. The…” he gestured over his shoulder faintly. “The garden I mean. It’s beautiful.” 

“Thank you, My Lord. I am glad it pleases you.” 

“That is, to some degree, my point. It does. But it’s not all that does. You are a good wife, Renata. I am glad you are mine.” He still seemed quite uncomfortable. 

“My Lord, you are kind to say so.” She set the last cushion into place and surveyed the room. “You will have your armory back by week’s end it seems.” Seeking to change the subject away from what seemed to be giving him strain. 

He sighed under his breath. “I came to say something, please, just let me say it.” His hands tucked behind him at the small of his back, one hand wrapping around the other arm’s wrist, his shoulders back and his chin up. “My father never gave the proper respect to his wife. I want to always be grateful for what you do to please me, but I also do not want you to feel there is only approval for you when you please me. You are often equally worthy of praise for being displeasing. If you had not gone against my command about the garden…” He shook his head a bit, feeling off-footed and thick-tongued. “Just keep doing what you believe to be good for me even if I do not like it.” He summarized quickly and nodded once. 

“Of course, My Lord.” She gave a polite bow of her head, letting her eyes drag slowly up along him from boots to blues as she lifted it. A shiver raced up his back when her eyes caressed his own. “Pleasing you will always be my goal, even if you do not see it plainly at first.” 

He felt a pang of desire, though she had not betrayed herself in any way but the study of him. No leer, no wink, no hint that she was anything but innocent as a newly born lamb. Several breaths were pulled in through his nostrils, his lips in a firm line as he held her gaze without flinching away. He crossed the room in three strides and clasped both hands around her head, holding her in place as his head bowed, kissing her deeply. She kissed him back, his ravenous tongue seeking to taste every contour of her warm mouth while she was all softness and acceptance. 

He felt her hands wind around his wrists and he growled like a hound hoarding a bone. A threat to not interfere, but her fingers only laid there, petting over his pulse as if to soothe him. Every part of him ached and throbbed, his mind feeling fuzzy and distant from his body’s scream to possess her. He broke the kiss, lips parting only enough to drag rough breaths through clenched teeth. “You are courting danger, My Lady.” Her hands at his wrists tightened and he let his hands fall to the smooth and unblemished line of her throat. “I think I have been too gentle with you of late. You forget that I have darkness inside of me. You have tried so very hard to purge me of it but it is a stain that will never be gone.” He pulled back enough to open his eyes and look down at her flushed face, his hand spanning her throat with firm fingers and a gentle pressure that would do her no harm. It made his blood boil to feel the swift rush of her pulse, the undulation of nervous swallowing, quiet and quick breaths echoing in the room. 

“Close your eyes and keep your hands at your side. Do not move, do not speak. Do not make those little coos of yours, _mein täubchen_. Be still for my sake.” 

He watched her arms drop, her body tense, her eyes closed. She trusted him. Every fiber in him wanted to have her then and there, but with the last shreds of his decency, he stepped back once, then again, turning and stalking out, the door shut tight between them. Would she never be safe from him? Would he always look at her as if she were a baby bunny wrapped in bacon and he the ravenous wolf? Safe in his room, he dropped into his chair and buried his face in his hands.

She was a good woman. A kind, sweet, intelligent woman and all he could see of her was a succulent mouth, soft flesh and heat to be touched and stoked and made putty for his neverending debauchery. She did nothing to earn such reprehensible treatment. He was inventing seductions where they did not exist. He heard a soft hiss. A scraping whisper sound and turned his head towards the door. The dark hardwood showed easily the small square of paper that had been thrust beneath. He rose and plucked it up, the slight hint of lilac clinging to the page as he unfolded it and read. 

_My Lord, I have learned that your captive has hidden herself with intent to deny you what is yours. Shall you let such defiance stand?_ It was signed ‘your humble servant’. 

That wicked, saucy wench! Gone was the fear he had suffered. The worry that he was some terrible unclean beast of lust and she was unmoved. It was more than clear with her little note of temptation that her passion equaled his own. She had been given safety, he had left her unmolested and yet she again tempted his inner villain to take control of him. He flew down the hall, but she was not in her rooms. He opened wardrobe doors, sought under the bed, but she was nowhere to be found. He almost sniffed the air as he moved into the hall again and began to search for his runaway wife. 

In the library, he found a handkerchief dropped onto the floor. Beneath the heavy line of dark drapes he saw the toes of her slippers and drug the fabric back to discover the shoes and nothing else. In the kitchen he found a sweet bun with a nibble taken out and a streak marking the swish of a finger through the icing. His thoughts turned to that sweetly coated fingertip between lips that wrapped around and suckled it clean. “ _Verführerin!_ ” His fingers gripping tightly to the table’s edge before he pulled himself forward and continued the hunt. He had just reached the second floor and found no trace of her in the room she slept in, his study, his bedroom. He moved into the hall and a flash of color caught his eye as she bolted through the front door. He sprang to motion and raced down the stairs after her. 

He threw the door open and skidded to a halt a few feet beyond it, eyes scanning the courtyard. The sun had set. It was darkened and still. He let his gaze drift in scrutiny, looking for motion to betray her direction. His blood sang in his ears and he forced himself to stop. Close his eyes. Listen. The wind shifted, rose as it descended from the mountain. From his left, he heard a mixture of horse whinnies and a slow wicked smile rose to his lips. 

The stable was humid and warm, token of the full loft of fresh summer hay that only the week before been added. The grooms kept the place clean and it smelled of animals and warmth but nothing worse. He walked the line of the stabled mounts, each stall peeked into. The tack room checked, and there was not only no sign of his wife, but no sign of the grooms either. The absence of the latter was telling.

“I know you are in here.” he called out, almost sure he heard a little gasp of breath from somewhere not too distant. “If you come out now and plead for mercy, I will be generous and allow you to keep your dress on when I carry you back to my bed, _meine sklave_.” He would never do otherwise, but he could damn well consider it. 

He listened again and heard a small creaking sound, a dusty puff from above and he bolted to the ladder, ascending upward into the loft, hand over foot, springing out and letting his eyes slide over the landscape of tousled grasses as he crept carefully between the mounds. “This is your final chance at amnesty... _fünf_... come to me now and I will allow you to beg my mercy in private… _vier_...If you do not, I will find you and everyone in the courtyard will hear your cries for pity go unanswered … _drei_...” he heard a rustling and paused in his movement. Behind him, she bolted from under a stack of hay and he turned to pursue, his longer legs closing the distance easily. An arm around her waist plucked her from her feet and he chuckled in her ear as she struggled, pinned against his chest, her bare feet kicking a half foot from the floor. “Tsk tsk, _miene kleine maus_...” he inhaled deeply the smell of flowers and hay that clung to her, green and wild like the countryside. “Where do you think you are going?” 

“Please, My Lord.” Her voice soft and breathless, going still and soft in his embrace. “I would never…” 

“ _Halte den mund!”_ he hissed in her ear. “You think to escape me?” his free hand rose up and gingerly plucked the strands of straw from her hair as he purred against her temple. “Do you not know I would hunt you to the ends of Exandria?” He glanced toward the opening where the ladder leaned. “I would happily oblige your rustic desire to be rutted like a beast in fodder, but I have other plans for you.” he carried her to the edge and set her down. “Follow, or I will take the ladder and you may spend your night here alone to contemplate your deed.” 

He slid down the ladder, barely touching each rung until he was on the floor. _“Komm zum Meister, kleiner sklave.”_ His voice a low growl, finger crooking to beacon her down. He saw her stiffen and her eyes widen to hear herself addressed as his property, but he noted as well the shiver that sent her to twitch before she turned and began her descent. She never reached the floor. When she was close enough, he merely snatched her off the ladder and laid her over his shoulder, stalking back toward the house. “This is becoming a habit. I am far too merciful. Next time you try to escape the castle I will have you in the middle of the courtyard for everyone to watch.” He grinned to himself when she made a squeak of shock and went still. He knew he’d never do such a thing, as he believed she did as well. 

He did not take her to his bedroom, but forward into the library, the door shutting tightly behind them. He dropped her to her feet, turned and locked it then faced her again. Gods she was beautiful! She backed away until her rump collided with the table and she edged to skirt it. “Choose one.” He glanced to the left and right. 

“My Lord?”

“A book. Choose a book.” He gestured toward the shelves. 

She looked confused, then he saw her remember. “Oh. Oh, no, My Lord, I was … I was not serious.” 

“That matters not. I am very serious. Choose, or I will choose for you.” 

He enjoyed watching as she had to move and select a book. She chose a novel, which was seemly as it would hardly make sense for her to be reading the crop report aloud. Clutching it against her chest, she regarded him with those wide doe eyes and he was again overcome by that beast inside of him, snatching her wrist and pulling her along. He tugged it from her fingers and dropped it to the table, opening it a few pages in, he tapped against the page. “Begin.” 

“...upon the dark waves. With unbridled fury the storm descended.” She shuddered as she was forced to lean very close to see the words in the near darkness of the room. He could light a lamp, but having to nearly have her nose against the page set her into a posture that was both enjoyable and convenient. “Each man to his post dispatched, hands laid open by the wet, salty ropes as they fought the wildly flapping sails.” 

As she read he began the slow drag of her skirt upward. He caught her voice catching and saw her tension, but it could not in any measure equal his own. Slowly unveiling her lithe legs, her dirty little feet, token of running about without her shoes on like some nymph of the wood. She continued the tale of the storm and he could not help but feel as the crew did, fighting against a wild storm that threatened to destroy him. Her gown bunched at her hips, the naked curve of her backside bare, he made no pause but to draw himself free and with a single motion fill her. 

The narrative paused as she bit back a cry of shock, but with slightly tremulous renewal, took up the thread again. “They cried again, “Fire, there is fire a’stern!” It seemed a devils flame for it burned white and hot even under the pouring rain.”

He felt that fire, racing over every nerve, tormented by the placidity of her voice, the unmoving nature of her tone in such violent opposition to how she felt around him, an embrace of drenched velvet that gave such pleasure and yet fed it, making him crave her all the more. He dropped a hand to her hip, another to her shoulder as he renewed his effort to make her reading impossible. 

“ 'Men, the ship is … lost.' ” She bit her lip and he felt a surge of something like victory to have made her skitter in her cadence. “...Captain Leopold cried as the flames, a hellish landscape, surrounded his men. “We must to the longboats. Cast our fates to the mercy of the sea for to remain would… would mean certain death.' ” Her body jolted as she tried to lift her bracing hand to turn the page without being driven through the table. 

He leaned over her and shoved it off to clatter onto the floor. “Lost. Lost in a merciless storm. Woman you chose that on purpose!” he stood and pulled her back against him, one arm snaking around her ribcage, the other beneath her thigh to lift her up against his chest, impaled as he turned and walked only the two steps to the chaise and let her fall, following her down, bound within her, his body ruthless in its conquest. “So elegant.” he purred near her ear as his hips drove against her. “So unmoved. I know your secret, My Lady. Under all that ice is a volcano of flame. You crave this as I do. You tempt me at every turn until I am mad with want of you. No whore could ever stir me as you do.” He could not stop his tongue. “Deny you want it. Play the Lady if such ruses please you, but I know what you are. You are my slave. My lover. My bitch in heat begging to be mounted and bred.” 

He pounded into her, his mind lost in the pleasure of feeling her body surrender to him, her breathy gasps and whimpers muffled into the pillow. He grabbed her hair and pulled her head back, giving her nothing to mute her cries. “Relent! Surrender. Give me what is mine.” He battered at her womb until he felt her body flutter and she clapped her own hands over her mouth, though it did not stop the scream from echoing as she was thrown over the edge and he followed in an instant, White hot stars popped into the peripheral of his vision as he clung to her, pouring out his pleasure with such ferocity he was certain he was going to be nothing more than a husk when the deed was ended. 

Time had lost all meaning, he might have been hanging in the throes of ecstasy for a moment, or for an hour. Like a clock’s pendulum, his hips moved a slow cadence unbidden, slowing, then with a grit of teeth and a low groan he pulled away only to stumble back a half step and collapse into the embrace of a chair, grateful as his knees were like jelly. “Matron’s Mercy… “he muttered, his hand running back over his sweat-damp brow and through his hair. “I cannot...” His head let fall back, eyes closed as he sought to chase down the breath she had stolen. He heard the rustling of her movement, the sound of the book being returned to the shelf. That was so like her, tidying up and making everything look as it should, even after what he’d done. He was a monster. He could barely remember anything but his own desperation to ease the need he was drowning in. Her pleasure had been an accident. “Renata, I’m sorry.” he opened his eyes but did not drop his chin, staring up at the dark ceiling. “I should not be like this. I don’t want to be like this.” 

The smell of lust and lilacs brushed his nose before her touch was felt, her hand sliding over his neck as she sank down onto his lap. “You have nothing to be sorry for, My Lord.” 

“I said such… such terrible things to you. I thought worse.” 

“My Lord…” her hand slid against the back of his skull and pressed to urge him to look at her. “I do not hate this part of you. I do not hate any part of you. I could not be happy if my husband was a true villain, but you are not. You merely have a … mote of villainy. It is like peppers. In the right amounts, it is a very pleasant burn.” 

He regarded her with a serious expression. He saw in her eyes only acceptance. Only trust. His fingers lifted to brush back her hair, a bit of hay pulled loose and let flutter to the floor. She was so generous. So kind. Yet, she had been right to call herself deviant. She was bent. Twisted in a way that perfectly matched his own deviance. He had once been made very ill by bad food in a tavern. His belly had roiled and he’d fought to keep from purging until it was impossible. He’d vomited up everything until only bile remained and within minutes, he felt better, the vileness cast out of him. That was akin to how he felt now. His darker inclinations had been building within him and she gave him the freedom to exorcise them. 

He said at last. “Come to bed and I will spend the remainder of the night showing my gratitude for your indomitable patience.” Smiling gently as he nudged her to rise. The moment was taken to pull themselves together, he slid an arm around her back and stepped out into the front hall, his mind turning on the night ahead, his eyes only on her. 

“Renata!” a woman’s voice cried out and he looked up, his body shot through with tension. 

“Margareta!?” He heard his wife say, her voice betraying his feelings of unpleasant surprise were mirrored. 

Damn. There went his good mood.


	26. Chapter 26

“What are you doing here?” She realized in an instant several truths simultaneously. She was barefoot, her dress and hair mussed, bits of straw clinging to both, and she had exited the library with her arm around her husband’s waist, flush with the warmth of conjugal affection. Shame made her cheeks sear as she looked at her sister, who seemed utterly pristine and nigh angelic. 

Her hair was smoothly drawn back, a circlet of gold resting just so, her gown of fine fit and fabric. She seemed as she had always been. The most beautiful woman in Exandria. Her slender frame moving deeper into the castle’s foyer, her hands held outward to take Renata’s, drawing her away from Wilhelm to press a kiss to each of her cheeks. “Oh, it is so wonderful to see you! I have been so worried.” Her mouth a pretty pout as she looked around. “Drug off to this dreary little village. It’s positively sinister.” She focused back on her sister, her eyes narrowing. “Dear Gods above, does he have you slaving in the stables?” A glance down. “Shoeless!?” She gasped and stepped back a bit, pulling Renata to follow. “How dare you!” Glaring past her at Wilhelm.

“Margareta... No.” Renata pulled her hands away and clasped them before her. “I wanted to check on the new foal. I did not want to ruin my slippers so I left them behind. Feet wash easily, silk is a much more difficult thing to clean.” That she was lying through her teeth so easily was a habit long ago learned to deal with diffusing her sister’s tantrums before they could get a good rolling start. “You know me. I act without thinking far too often.” 

Looking mollified, Margareta reached up and smoothed her already pristine hair with a nod. “Yes, you were always one to do things without thought.” A snippy little sniff as she brushed her fingertips over her skirt. “Though, you are right about silk.” A little bitterness swallowed it seemed before she smiled again. “Forgive me, Lord von Friedrich, for my outburst. I am just so very protective of my sister. Though she is older, I have always felt as though it was my duty to keep her safe.” 

Renata heard it. The stifled noise at the back of Wilhelm’s throat. She knew it was the choking of vitriol and she thanked him for it inwardly. “My Lord.” She realized even as she said it that she’d put just the faintest emphasis on the word ‘my’. “Would you be so kind as to see if the cook would prepare some tea to welcome our guest?” Her look across her shoulder was filled with apology. 

“Yes. Please, do come inside. I will see refreshment is brought to the parlor.” His tone was cooly polite as he gave a curt nod and turned to walk away. 

Renata knew him well enough to hear the music between the notes. Inflection that underlined that Margareta had already come inside, without invitation, and Renata noticed he had not actually welcomed her even now. For her part, Margareta noticed none of this. When Wilhelm had gone, she looked around the castle with a smile that, when she noticed Renata looking her way, she dropped, taking a look of concern. “How are you? Is it horrid? Are you miserable?” Renata could see in an instant she was hoping to hear that she was.

I am growing to appreciate Ravenswood for its unique beauty. It is nothing like Yrrosa, but it has much to recommend it.” She glanced past Margareta. “Did Father come?”

“Oh, no. He remains at home, still moping about since you left us. He’s really quite useless. If it were not for my dear Thomas, I imagine the place would have fallen in by now.” 

She stepped back and motioned toward the sitting room. “So Father relented?”

“Oh, Thomas gave him no choice. I don’t know what he said, but Father readily agreed.” Margareta sighed and cocked her head a bit. “Oh, it was such a wonderful wedding. Nothing like that debacle you had. It was at the old chapel where we…” She bowed her head shyly but no blush touched her porcelain cheek. “Everyone was there. The whole of Yrossa turned out, waving wands of ribbon and throwing flowers and the feast went on for two days!” She smiled brightly. “No one even remembered that I had been left at the altar by an unworthy suitor. Not once they saw Thomas sweep me up and carry me off.” 

They were alone still, and she feared that Wilhelm would return any minute. “I am sorry for your loss.” Eyes dropping to a trim waist that, by her measure, should be showing well the fruits of her folly. 

“Loss?” She caught the direction of the look and broke into peals of laughter. “Oh, that! I told you it was nothing to worry over.” She gave a look that hinted at being caught at something but not caring that she had. “I was never with child. I just told you that because I thought you wouldn’t help me otherwise. I expected you to … I don’t actually know what I expected, but it wasn’t to steal him for yourself, I can tell you that.” She drew a slow, imperious breath. “Though, in the end, it worked out for the best. Thomas is adoring and worships me as a goddess. He certainly would never let me go about unshod like a peasant.” 

She would not give Margareta the satisfaction of rising to her baiting. Inwardly she was so very close to throwing a punch that her arm ached. She’d lied about being pregnant. In retrospect, she ought to have expected it. No wonder the next morning she was so willing to go through with the marriage without fear of being found out. “Where _is_ Thomas?”

“He had some business in Rexxentrum. He’s arriving tomorrow. I wanted to have time to talk to you, just us sisters.” 

It was at that moment that a clatter at the door announced the arrival of the tea. Servants moved through the room, setting down the teapot and cups, plates of small sandwiches and sliced fruits, and a stacked tray of sweet cakes. Each, after setting them on the long table between her sister and herself, bowed low and poured elegance and respect into each rendition of ‘We hope it be found pleasing, Lady Wilhelm. If you discover any need at all, you have but to ring. ” before they slid out of the room. When the last had departed, Wilhelm made his way back into the room, a glass of port in hand. She was going to kick him for instigating the servants to fawn so. 

“So what brings you to Ravenswood, Fräulein Rosenfeld?” His glass brushing his lips as he took a small sip. Though he was looking toward Margareta, Renata could almost feel his wink in her direction. She could also hear the grinding of her sister’s teeth. 

“My Lord, she has married since last we saw one another. She is Lady Margareta Geier now.” 

“Oh, well then, I stand corrected. Congratulations.” 

“Thank you Lord me von Friedrich.” She smiled through the words. “We are very much in love.” 

“Ah.” Another sip taken. “So your husband lets you travel all by yourself?” 

“He is on business in Rexxentrum. He has a very high position in a local shipping company in Yrrosa. They’re expanding all over the valley…” She leaned closer, her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Soon, they may even open a branch in Port Damali. If Thomas is sent to head the new offices there, which he expects will be the case, I will hardly ever get a chance to see my dear sister, so he was kind enough to see my guards and myself to the outskirts of your gray little village. Oh, he was so very sad to have to leave me even for a moment. It was all I could do to keep him from claiming his rights then and there.” A little wrinkle of her nose and a fanning of her face with her fingers before claiming the teacup being held out by her sister. “Sugar?”

“Yes, three spoons as I recall you prefer it sweet.”

“Ah, well your memory was always one of your best qualities.” She took a sip and winced. “Ooh, bit too warm.” She set it down and reached for a sandwich. “It was such a terrible journey. So dreadfully dull.” 

“Oh?” Renata spoke before she thought. “I found the journey quite exciting. There were goblins and an enormous hill giant trying to steal our wagon.” 

“No!?” She gasped softly and blinked, obviously peeved that she hadn’t had any adventure. The look lasted only for a moment before, like pulling a shade across a window, the placid and mildly derisive look returned. “I suppose they recognized that Thomas’s men are far too skilled and well equipped to risk attacking.”

“Of course.” Wilhelm offered casually. “Supposing they had though, whatever would you have done?”

“Oh, I would have hidden well. I would not want to imagine what such… low creatures might do.” She shuddered. 

“See, Renata? Your sister understands. When goblins attack you are supposed to cower in the carriage like a good girl, not go out and slay them yourself.” 

“You did what?!” Renata flinched faintly when the sputter from her sister ended in a coughing fit. Gasping and choking on tea that had gone down the wrong way. Rising to her sister’s side, Renata patted her gently on the back as she stood beside her, eyeing her husband with a narrowed gaze, which he met with only a smile. Why was he being such an instigator? 

“It was nothing, Margareta. One goblin and mostly by accident. My husband was very cross at me and I do not think I will ever hear the end of it.” 

“No, I do not think you shall.” he rose. “Forgive me, I think I will adjourn to my personal study and allow you two privacy to talk. I will have guest rooms prepared for you, Lady Greier.” He stopped beside them and lifted Renata’s hand. “Tomorrow, however, I demand at least a portion of your day, My Lady. Just because you have company does not mean your duties are to be shirked.” he bowed over her hand, not kissing her knuckles, though he breathed softly against them, raising all the hairs on her arms as he stepped back and with his port in hand, strolled out of the room. 

"Never, My Lord." She exhaled softly and shook her head, amused, then looked up to note her sister's narrowed-eyed gaze. “How long will you be visiting?” She hoped it was not for very long, but kept that from influencing her tone. 

“Oh, we can only stay the week. Thomas has to get back to Yrrosa. They simply cannot run the business without him.” She set the cup down. “Speaking of business...what is it your husband _does?_ He must do something. Or is he just one of those lounging lords, living on his inheritance and doing nothing of value?”

“My Lord has businesses in both Rexxentrum and Druvenlode as well as his duties here in Ravenswood.” She nodded and poured herself a cup of tea.

“Ugh, Ravenswood. Even the name sounds so depressing. I didn’t even bother sticking my head out of the carriage for a moment. I am sure it must be just dreadful.” 

“Perhaps tomorrow we may go riding. I will show you the wineries and orchards, there is a wonderful artisan of stringed instruments near the town square whose shop is not only beautiful to look at, but it smells mmm…” she sighed. “You think you will only watch for a moment, and then you realize you have spent an hour watching his hands draw forth what will become a violin from a block of wood as if he were just scraping away the excess to reveal what was waiting lthere already.”

“You are so easily amused, Renata.” She drawled in a bored tone. “Tell me about him then.” 

“Who, Herr Uffermann?”

“No, your husband.” She set the cup down with a clatter. “Are you happy with your purloined goods?”

“I did not steal him, Margareta. You were already pregnant with Thomas’s child for all I knew and I had to find a way to make him go away without forcing you to confess what had happened. It would have ruined your reputation, ruined Father, it would have made him an enemy and we did not need another of those.” 

“Don’t you dare judge me for Thomas when you spread your legs for a man you knew less than a day!” 

“I did no such thing!” She gasped softly. “I merely told him that you did not want to marry him, that I had heard he did not want to marry at all. Advised that if he confessed his reticence to Father, made him understand that he was content to leave with only the alliance signed and not force you to marry one who you did not love, it would give him all the boons and none of the pains. I was as surprised as you when he announced that he was going to marry me. He told me if I did not, he would tear up the alliance papers and we would be in as dire a situation as we would have been if he’d found his wife not only unchaste but already carrying another man’s child.”

She seemed to be absorbing it, her mouth a little pursed moue of frustration. “So you did not sleep with him?”

“I remained a virgin until we arrived in Ravenswood.” She admitted, skirting the question in a way she hoped was not obvious. 

“I’m… sorry. I thought .. well it is rather clear what I thought. I should have been more generous, Renata. You would not do such a thing, I know that in my heart.” She pushed back the sentiment and looked around. “It’s not as dismal inside as it looks from the courtyard.” 

“Oh, it has its charms. If you would like to take a walkabout, I will happily show you around.” 

“I think that would be lovely.” She stood and smoothed out her skirt. “Renata?” She dropped her eyes and then lifted them with a half-smile. “It truly is good to see you doing so well.” 

“Thank you.” She lead her sister out and showed her the whole of the castle. What history she could remember was recounted, names put to the portraits, and antiques of special nature pointed out. When they reached her rooms, she found they were lit and the fire was burning in the grate. 

“Oooh.” Margareta stepped inside and looked around. “This room is yours? You do not sleep with your husband?” 

“Margareta.” She chuckled softly. “What a thing to suggest.” She adopted a look that said without words that she assumed her words had been a joke and found it to be in bad taste. “The whole of the south wing is mine, mostly. My bathing room, my private sitting room, the nursery…” She sighed softly. “Your room will be in the north wing. Matthias’ room is in that wing as well.” 

“Who is Matthias, your secret lover?” Her sister gave a saucy wink. 

“He is my brother in law. He has been spending most of his time of late attending to the census of the village. My Lord Wilhelm thought it would do him good to learn about the people he is responsible for.” 

“Ugh, how very dreary for him. Talking to peasants all day. Is he as handsome as his brother?”

“He is darker. Favors his father’s coloring, but he is handsome for a boy, I suppose.”

They drifted into the sitting room, the wide windows showing the village below them, visible now as only dots of light in the darkness. No matter what Margareta said, she did not find Ravenswood dismal or dreary. It was beautiful and rich. 

Margareta flounced down into a chair with a huff. “I am hurt. All we have done is talk about you. Your husband, your castle, your life. Do you not have any curiosity about mine?.” 

“I am sorry, Margareta. I didn’t want to pounce upon you and pry out every story before you had a moment to catch your breath. You seem content and I know well that you have loved Thomas for a very long time. I have only ever wanted your happiness and it seems you have gotten all you have ever desired.” 

“I did. I do. I have all I could ever want.” She nodded faintly. 

“So…” Renata sat down and folded her hands in her lap. “Tell me all about your life now. Begin from the moment Father said yes and go from there.” Knowing well that if Margareta were given freedom to, she could talk about herself for hours. 

She did not get the chance, as a knock interrupted her story about how they were quite the first family of Yrrosa and how everyone followed their lead in what was fashionable and worth notice. How sad Margareta was for them when she and Thomas moved to the Menagerie Coast where they could really become important. The door opened to reveal Caspar who bowed low and announced that the guest rooms were prepared. 

The moment she saw it, Renata again wanted to find her husband and kick him. Every floral thing she had banished from her own room had been placed into this one. Worse still were the furnishings. The bed, the wardrobe, the chests, the vanity, all were some sort of red-painted wood, as smooth as glass, accented with gold. It looked like a red dragon and his hoard had exploded in an overgrown rose garden. 

“It’s so beautiful!” Margareta gushed, moving to run her hands across the gilded framework around the bed. “Have you ever seen such opulence?” 

Renata clenched her fist at her side and glanced sidelong at the faint twitch of subdued laughter on her husband’s valet’s lips. “Oh, don’t you dare.” Murmured from the corner of her own lips. 

“Herr Greier’s room is the next door down. Your rooms, I am afraid, do share a common bathing room.” Sounding deeply apologetic.

“No.. that will be fine.” She moved to the vanity and began opening the drawers, a little gasp at the red velvet-lined row of silver combs and brushes. 

“My Lady Greier, I have given your men accommodations in our barracks, and I noticed no maid came with you. I will send for Lucinda to attend your needs while you are here. She is new, but she will serve admirably, I am sure.” He gave a pointed look Renata’s way before his smile was flashed to her sister. 

“Oh, of course. I will send her in to help you prepare for bed, Margareta. Your journey was long and I am sure you are exhausted. I will see you in the morning at breakfast.” 

“Oh yes. Very long journey. Goodnight.” She managed to drag her hands and eyes away from the furnishings long enough to give a smile and a polite nod before the door closed. 

“I’m going to kill him.” She huffed under her breath as she walked, not truly angry, but she did wish to speak to her husband. 

“I believe Lord Wilhelm was overcome with a need to pray, My Lady. “ Caspar offered as they walked. When she moved toward the door, he moved into the servant’s wing. 

Outside in the quiet of the temple, she found him leaning against the wall, smirking at her as she entered. The altar’s candles had been lit and the small space was warmly golden and comforting. “Wilhelm…” She chuckled. “I understand you did not expect her, nor did I, but did you have to torment her so?”

“I have no idea what you mean.” He feigned innocence. “I was nothing but polite.” 

“You called her Fraulein.” 

“A slip of the tongue.” 

“You had the servants come in with such an act that I nearly laughed despite myself.” She held an invisible platter. “Oh, beloved Mistress, it is our joy to serve and bow before you!” 

“I don’t recall it going that far.” he teased. 

“You know what I mean, Wilhelm. It was silly.” She chastised gently. “Telling her I killed a goblin? “ She chuckled breathily. “And what is that room?!” 

He grinned then, his eyes sparkling in the candlelight. “Oh, did she like it? Did she despise it? Either way I am ecstatic.” 

“It was hideous. I have never seen such garish furnishings in my life, then to be coupled with all those pink roses and fuschia hydrangeas everywhere? I have never been to a whorehouse but I can imagine that is what they must look like.” 

“ _Mein täubchen_ , they vary. Some are that vulgar, yes, but most are like any inn room. A bed, a washing stand, a closet, a chamber pot… “ he shrugged. “She liked it though, didn’t she?”

“Yes.” Her arms folded as he tittered like a schoolboy. “Thankfully Herr Geier will have his own room.” 

“It is done in the same style. I thought it appropriate they match.” 

“Oh, My Lord, tell me you didn’t. Thomas Geier is not the sort of man to appreciate floral draperies.” 

“Good. He will hate it and it will encourage him to take his wife and go back across the fields where they belong.” His laughter faded as he eyed her with an intent study. “I came near to slapping her more than once. She insults you and you do nothing.” 

“What would be the point, My Lord? Speak against her and she will take the part of the injured party, tears and pouting and temper fits and what might be at least a tolerable visit will be a nightmare. What she thinks of me does not matter. Do you think that I stole you from her out of spite? If you do not think so, why should it matter that she did? She insulted Ravenswood, but that was born of ignorance. When she sees the beauty of the place herself, she will not dare speak a word against it, and if she should I will know it as pettiness and not the truth. No one could visit Ravenswood and not be swayed.” 

“I do not trust her, Renata. It is why I spoke to your maid. I made it clear to her that she has only recently come to be employed here, that she has never had occasion to serve the lady of the house, but that the rumor among the staff is that you are kind, but do not like being waited upon. She is to listen, and to tell Caspar in private what she learns.” 

“She will learn my sister is contrary and childish and spoiled. She will learn my new brother in law is a low, leering sort of man who uses his strength to intimidate anyone smaller than himself. Nothing I do not already know.” She lifted a hand. “Still, I agree to go along with your plan and say nothing of Lucinda being my maid and your spy. Far be it for me to intrude on your skullduggery.”

“Your capitulation is appreciated as always.” He stepped from the wall and moved to slide his hands along her waist and draw her gently toward him. “Speaking of giving in, I believe we were bound for our bed when the harpy arrived?”

She sighed and set her palms on his chest, looking up at his face with such desire to surrender to his will in that moment. “My Lord… we cannot. If she thinks we share a bed it will only make it clearer to her that I am not so above the carnal. Already I fear she suspects. The way we exited the library she would have to be an imbecile to not have seen it.”

“Ah, good. Our secret is safe then.” A wink and he leaned down to press a warm kiss her forehead. “For the duration of the visit, I will honor your wall, knowing it is false and made of paper. I look forward to burning it to ash the instant she leaves.” 

"Thank you. Your capitulation is appreciated as always." A smile as she lingered in his arms for another minute, just basking. A last look up at him, deeply content, before she slipped away, bare feet quietly carrying her to her rooms. There, she took a bath and then crawled into the bed alone, pining terribly until sleep drug her under to dream of storms at sea and her sister thrown overboard.


	27. Chapter 27

Wilhelm had slept badly. Dressed, he stood in the conservatory with a cup of very strong black tea, watching the garden slumber still in the shadow of the Silberquel. Perhaps it was just that he had grown used to having her in his bed. Couple that with the awareness he was housing a powder keg of unpleasantness in the form of his sister-in-law and the awareness he had to be, at least outwardly, pleasant and accommodating to the witch? Recipe for a restless night. 

The household was already bustling before he’d left his room. Stone floors gleamed with the damp of having been freshly swept and mopped, fresh flowers sat in arrangements around the rooms. The faint hint of lemon and vinegar that clung to the newly washed windows was being swiftly replaced with the warm homey scent of baked goods and savory notes of rich sausages. His stomach grumbled loudly but he would push aside thoughts of breakfast for a while yet. He had a few chores of his own to attend. 

He was a morning lark. It was just his nature to be up early, even when he did not find his slumber until after midnight. His first order of the day, now that he’d had his tea, was to collect the night’s report from the guard. The air outside was unseasonably brisk, the glint of dew clinging to the stones and a blanket of light fog hung over the village, waiting for the sun to surpass the mountains and burn it away. 

“Gilbert.” He nodded to the man as he closed the distance, meeting halfway across the courtyard.

“My Lord.” A bow and the papers held out. “It was a fairly quiet night. A few items of mild interest. Also, you will find the finalized list of the next wave of recruits to relocate. Some are local, a few are family or friends from outlying areas.” 

“Good. I will peruse this over breakfast. I doubt I will see anything I wish to change, but I’ll render my final decision after I have had something to eat.” he gave a slight glance up. “Speaking of, you should do the same.” Motioning the man off to get his own breakfast now that his long night’s shift had ended, turning on his heel to stroll back toward the castle himself. He sank into his chair at the table in the dining room, content to nibble on a bit of warm bread with butter and sip his tea as he read. 

There were reports of trouble on the road toward Rexxuntrum, a band of robbers had attacked a couple heading south and they had reported it in the late evening hours to Wachtmeister Städter. A small fire in the kitchen of one of the local taverns and a fight in another that resulted in a couple of minor injuries, but it was nothing too unexpected. The other paperwork, that required more study. It was vital that the right sort of persons were accepted to represent him in Yrrosa. He was hardly aware of the time passing as he scrutinized each application, but an hour of study had gone before he was roused by the arrival of his wife. 

She entered without announcing her presence and only the faint clatter of the teacup to the saucer pulled him from his reading. She gave him a smile and moved to take her chair. “Good morning, My Lord. I hope your rest was fruitful.” Though the expanse of the table separated them, he could almost feel her arms around him, her breath on his chest, her smell in his nose, all the things that he had grown to require to sleep properly. “It passed without complaint. Have you any plans for today?”

“Indeed My Lord. When Margareta is awake and ready, I was hoping to introduce her to the village. Show her all the beauty she missed when she rode in. You are more than welcome to come with us.” A smile that teased as she lifted her cup. 

“I do believe I have too much to do today, My Lady. I can’t avoid my lordly duties. I know..” he set a hand to his heart. “Heartbreaking, but I will just have to soldier on.” As if he truly wanted to spend a day listening to Margareta complain. 

“Ah, you will be missed.” She nodded with a very understanding look. “I will, of course, take Oren with us.” 

Oren was a war veteran and wore scars across his face and body that twisted his face in puckered pink lines. His beard was patchy amidst the scars, but a point of great pride, combed and oiled to shine brightly in the sunshine. He was, not to be cruel, the least attractive of her husband’s retinue. Additionally, unlike many of the guards, he was a married man. Thus Renata thought him least likely to make her husband uncomfortable so they had become companions whenever she needed to leave the castle and Wilhelm was not available.

He nodded to himself. “Good. There was a report of some trouble on the road northward. Do not leave the village.” 

“As you wish, My Lord.” She buttered her muffin and paused. “The north? Toward Rexxuntrum?” a little unease in her face. “I would ask you do not mention it if you should see Margareta. Thomas is doing business there and she will worry for nothing.” 

He waved it off. “Of course. The last thing I desire is to have her cackling about like a fox-fretted hen all morning.” 

“Thank you, My Lord.” she nodded and set about her morning meal, and after a few moments of watching the sensual way she had with a baked good, he forced his eyes to the paperwork again. Matthias and Caspar joined them a few minutes later, and breakfast became a far more convivial event. Lady Greier, however, did not appear. After all the breakfast had been cleared away, Renata adjourned herself from the room and the men chatted about the news of the night. 

Wilhelm left the room last, and managed to catch sight of his wife, pulling her gloves on, having changed into a very suitable gown for riding, her hair obscured beneath wimple and veil. She was talking with Lucinda who stood at the base of the stairs with a laden tray of breakfast. 

“Lady Greier should be reminded we are going riding in the village today. If she balks, do not press her, it will do you only ill. Whatever she says to you, let it be as water on a duck’s back. Take nothing she says to heart and you will survive this week.” She gave her a little swishing flick of the hand to send her on her way up the stairs. “As will we all.” She added under her breath before she turned and headed out, no doubt to the stables, to assure that the horses were readied. 

He had to smile. The woman was far more patient than he could ever imagine being and even then he could see that her sister was already making that a challenge. A shake of his head and he scampered up the stairs to his study to finish his approvals of the volunteers. He often found his mind drifting as he worked to his wife. It wasn’t carnal, well, not entirely, but a feeling of absence. He missed her company, even silently sitting in the same room felt good. What had she said, ‘solitary together’? He looked forward to having her attention undiverted again. 

“REEEENNAAAAATTTTAAAA!” 

A screech like an ice pick to the ear broke his musing and he stood, frowning. He moved to the door and opened it just in time to see Margareta flouncing down the stairs, a letter in hand. Renata was already moving up to meet her, the letter being flapped around was snatched gently and read over. 

“Oh.” Renata nodded soberly then smiled softly. “It is to be expected with such things, Margareta.” 

“What…” he spoke with clipped tone through his teeth. “Is all this caterwauling about? I am attempting to work.” He made eye contact with Renata only for a moment before he fixed his gaze on Margareta, hoping it was clear to the former that any temper was not directed at her. 

“Is that all you men do? Work?!” She gave a stifled sob and ran down the stairs, a slamming door echoing that she’d shut herself up in one of the rooms below. 

Renata winced. “Forgive her, My Lord. She has just been delivered a note from Thomas. He is going to be tied up with business in Rexxentrum for the next three days. She is just disappointed. She will get over it very quickly, she always does.” 

He rubbed at his temples. “Please… encourage her to join you on that ride sooner rather than later? I do wish to get this done today.” 

“I will do my best, My Lord.” 

He returned to his study, and from below could barely hear the conversation’s cadence, though the words were too muted. Eventually, it ended and silence reigned. A shake of his head, sympathetic to his wife’s plight, but better her than him. He reassured himself that she’d had a lifetime to deal with her sister’s ways and there was no better protector than experience.

**\- - - - - - - - - - - - -**

Margareta sighed softly as they left the vineyard. “You are a Lady, Margareta. You must think of not only yourself but of your husband. Of Father. Of your future children.” 

“Whatever do you mean?” Her haughty tone and look of derision impossible to ignore. 

A glance was given toward Oren who rode just behind them. “A moment?” He obligingly drew back to a slower pace to give them a bit more privacy. “Margareta, I am going to speak honestly. Look at me.” She waited, and eventually, Margareta’s eyes shifted in her direction. “Do you recall Schlaffes?” 

“The dog?” She gasped in amusement. “Yes, I do recall that horrid little creature.” 

“I can tell you do. I can also tell that you recall what finally got him banished from the house.”

Margareta wrinkled her nose. “I do.” 

“Well, Margareta, you’re behaving just like he did.” Renata did not pause at the gasp of shock. “He rolled about in the dung heap and then fled into the house and everywhere he went he left filth and unpleasantness. That, _meine geliebte schwester_ is what you are doing with your actions.” Her tone firm and her features determined. 

“I .. I am sure I have no idea what you are talking about!” A tone of injury in her quavering voice. 

“Think of it like this then. When you meet someone new, it is like walking in the newly fallen snow. Every step, every move you make, leaves a track. A reminder of where you have been, yes? A person can then look at those tracks and make judgements. This person was heavy or slight, limped or was long-legged. Were they walking fast or meandering? Man or woman?” 

“Do get to your point if you have one.” 

“You stomp about like a rampaging beast, you leave mud and splatters and anyone who looks at those marks thinks ‘Oh, an ogre must have passed this way’. Is that your wish? That everyone who you meet thinks, when you have gone away, ‘what a beautiful woman, but she certainly acts like a miserable, heinous hag’? You are beautiful, Margareta, but that does not last forever. A time will come, very quickly, when it will diminish and all you will have to be judged on are your actions.” 

Margareta glowered but did not argue. 

“Attempt to consider how you would react if someone spoke to you as you just spoke to Frau Winton.” 

“That red-faced pig of a woman? She cannot even control her litter of filthy offspring.” 

“That woman is raising six children, all of them under the age of seven. Only two of them are her own. The others belong to women in the village who have died. She cares for them as well as helping her husband keep up one of the finest vineyards in the whole of the Zemni Fields. Red-faced? Would you not be if you toiled in the sun all day? Filthy? If so it is because even the youngest works pulling weeds and catching insects that might well destroy the crop. They have no time for tutors or for lessons on the viola in the afternoons.” 

“Well, if she wants to be respected, she ought not to be a peasant.” A snooty sniff and a quickening of the pace left Renata to just shake her head. There was hope, though faint, that some of her words would be as seeds, taking root and growing to an epiphany. She wouldn’t hold her breath though. 

They skirted the village proper, moving through the large sprawling orchards of apples that flanked the road into Ravenswood. It was not the low whispering grain fields of home, but it was beautiful in its own way. The twisted trunks spreading out in a bounteous sprawl of green leaves and the faint hint of ripening fruits peeking with each stirring breeze. The air was rife with the smell of it, and she was so content to let herself drift on that sweet hint of autumn that she actually jumped a bit when Margareta’s voice broke the quiet. 

“Where are we going?” Whined as she pouted and adjusted her riding hat, the wide brim protecting her face from the sun.

“We are going to the memorial. I wish to make my apology to my Lord’s parents for not having come sooner.”

“You’ve never been to the memorial then, My Lady Wilhelm?” Oren spoke, a voice that was warm and smooth in opposition to his haggard exterior.

“No, Oren, I have not. I saw it briefly as we first entered the village, but I was a bit distracted that day. I admit I keep putting it off because even though they are not actually there, I am a bit afraid to face them.” A slightly guilty shrug given as she glanced back at him. “I have heard it is beautiful, so I thought it might be something worth showing off.” She gave a smile toward her sister, determined to not let the dour mood of Margareta infect her.

“We’re going to a cemetery!?”

“Not so much a cemetery as a single monument to a great tragedy, is that not right, Oren?” Allowing that he might tell the story, as he had lived through that time here and she had not. 

Oren sighed softly. “Terrible it was. The Night of Sorrow, it is known as, but it was technically two days with that night between them. Terrible sickness swept through the village. It felled children, women, men, beggars and merchants and even Lord and Lady Othmar were not immune. It was a day like any other. The sun rose and then people began to grow ill. By dusk they were blackened and bloated. The second day was the same. When the sun fell, another portion of the village was slain. The third sunrise, however, brought no illness with it. All who became ill had died, and no one else was touched afterward. As swiftly as it had come, it was gone.”

“Oh, how revolting. No wonder this place is so dreary.” Margareta’s face one of utter disgust.

Oren did not seem to hear as they moved around to cross the main road and headed south to where the memorial rested. “Those who died were burned in a communal pyre. It was here that High Cleric Bertram had the memorial erected. He had a team of wizards draw magma from a distant volcano to the spot, and then the stone was instantly cooled and shaped, each name engraved into its surface. He then spent the best part of a week filling in each name with molten silver by his own hand.”

Though Oren had just described it, Renata was not quite prepared for the sight as they approached. A row of wooden benches had been constructed around a large circle of smooth river stones of variegated browns and blacks, white and red and deep earthy purples. In the center, a single flat stone rose up ten feet, smooth as glass. It was shaped slightly like an elongated and flattened lemon, smaller at the top and bottom, but not by much. It was smooth, but it held a rough-hewn wildness to it as well. 

She dismounted and moved toward the slab of obsidian. It was impossible to deny the beauty of the spot. The names, far too many, were glinting in the afternoon sun, stark compared to the glossy ebony stone. The most heart-wrenching facet of the memorial was that it acted as a mirror. One’s image covered by the rows of names. A reminder both that you would join them someday, and that, at this moment, you were alive. You had the chance to do better. To make a difference. You had the gift of tomorrow that they’d had stolen from them. Tears ran unchecked as she knelt, reaching up to brush her fingers across the names. Othmar and Frida von Friedrich. Their name near the bottom, given no place of honor, no larger font or any show that they had been Lord and Lady of Ravenswood. Death did not care that they were noble either. It was deeply humbling.

“Matron of Ravens, “ she spoke softly, her palm resting against the stone. “These were your people. You showed them to a better place. If you can, assure they are content and know that they are remembered with warmth.”

“What are you doing?” Margareta scoffed from her saddle. “You will ruin your gown rolling about in the dirt like that.” 

She lifted her chin and eyes, her look of mild annoyance mirrored for a moment before she rose and shook her skirt to assure no stone dust clung there. “Do you wish to return to the castle?”

“I wish to go to Rexxentrum and join my husband!” She snitted as she wheeled the horse around. “But I am forbidden it seems.” 

“Rexxentrum is immense, Margareta. Unless you know where you are going, it is quite easy to become lost. There are neighborhoods there bigger than the whole of Ravenswood.” She caught up and leaned over to pat her sister’s arm. “He will be here soon enough.” 

The ride back toward town was fairly quiet and it allowed Renata’s mind to wander. She studied the village as they entered, finding pleasure in the fact that she recognized not only places but people. She began to notice that many shops and houses in the residential district were being painted and there were several places where she saw people carrying out bolts of black fabric.

“What is going on?” She gestured generally as she leaned a bit to speak to Oren.

“Ah, It is nearly Quen’Pillar. Six weeks, give or take, between now and the Night of Ascension. Lots to do. Do you not celebrate the Night of Ascension in Yrrosa, My Lady?”

“We most certainly do!” Margareta interjected. “It is a dark night where you close all the shutters and bar the doors and no sane person steps outside of their home. My heart is hammering just to think on it. It is said that Julosian necromancers creep through the land unseen, searching about for any wayward traveler to slay so they could raise them up as fresh soldiers for their undead armies.

Oren blinked, then laughed. “Oh!” he chuckled behind his fist, eyes pleading graciousness as he fought to control his mirth. “Lady Greier, I am sorry. It is celebrated far differently here in Ravenswood.”

Renata was equally uneasy, but she smiled politely. “In my time here, I have learned that one of the tenets of her worship, The Raven Queen I mean, is that undeath is an insult and those who would pursue it must be destroyed, is that not so?” Oren’s nod pressing her to continue. “Knowing that, it is hard to believe that anyone celebrating her would engage in such pursuits as necromancy.”

“Too right, My Lady. She despises those who would pervert the natural course of one’s destiny. Many see death as a reason to mourn. Sadness is natural, of course, but do you not believe there is a world beyond this one? A place where the ill are made whole and the old young again? Where there is no famine, no fear, no pain?”

“I suppose I do.”

“Then would you not celebrate the fact that one you cared for has reached this land beyond mortal suffering? In Ravenswood, Night of Ascension is a night where the dead are remembered with song and laughter. With tears too, yes, but we mourn for ourselves who must live in this world without them. There is dancing and music and children go about in masks seeking to startle the adults. If they succeed, you must pay them a copper.” He chuckled to himself as if recalling memories of gaining such coppers as a youth. “Or you may pay a silver to earn a badge that protects you.”

“How awful. Little ragamuffins jumping out at you from all directions, begging coin?” Margareta wrinkled her nose. 

Renata chuckled. “It sounds delightful, Oren. Do we do anything?”

“What do you mean, My Lady?”

“I mean, as Lord and Lady. Do we have any special role to perform?”

“Ah, I see what you are asking. Not in the past. His Lordship’s brother Bertram will be here to lead the silent procession to the memorial and ask the Raven Queen’s blessing over the village, spare us from the horror of undeath, make the way smooth and easy for those who she will call to pass through this coming year, that sort of thing. When it is concluded, the song of remembrance will begin and everyone sings and muted instruments are loosed and we return in celebration of the lives who were like ripples in the pond, spreading out, touching everything as they passed.”

“I will have to learn the words.” She nodded once. “And put aside a silver for a badge, else I will have to carry a platinum worth of coppers for I am quite easily startled.” She laughed softly. As if fate were listening, it was at that moment that her horse jerked backward and danced across the cobblestones as a pair of boys fell in a tangle, fists and legs wildly flailing as they rolled in the street before her. Oren made to dismount, his face dark with anger but he, and the boys themselves, were shocked into stillness by a sharp whistle that broke through the quiet of the square, echoing in the resulting shocked silence. 

Renata lowered her fingers from her lips as she slid from the saddle. “What… is all this then?”

The boys stood as one, facing her, then one another as both spoke together, voices overlapping, raising, and the taller shoved the shorter before she stepped closer and set a hand between their faces. “Enough! One at a time.” Between them, she managed to gather the meat of the conflict. The tall, unhealthily scrawny redhead with the rapidly blacking eye was called Petrus. He had been attacked by the shorter, stocker boy with blonde hair and a split lip, named Ernst, for calling his sister a whore. Ernst was demanding an apology which Petrus was not in the mood to give. 

“What do you do?” She looked at Petrus. 

“Whaddya mean?” He glowered at the other boy.

“For employment. To bring money in for your family. What do you do?”

“I sometimes run errands now and then for folks, but… “ he gave a shrug.

“So, you’re mad because you cannot afford her services?”

“What?!” He gawped, instantly looking offended, and she doubted it was for himself. He glared and shook his head. Looking at the blonde he then dropped his eyes. “I asked her to go walking with me and she said no. I saw her walking with Isaak Gressmann just last week. Why shouldn’t she walk with me?”

She turned her eyes to the blonde boy. “Is this true, did your sister go walking with Isaak Gressmann?”

“His ma was sick. My pa sent some bone broth and some herbs to help her breathin’. Isaak was walking with her for a short bit without me because I ..” he blushed. “I had a bad stomach and was in the bushes with the spins.”

“So she don’t … they aren’t?” Petrus frowned and look heartsick.

“I see.” She nodded once and glanced over her shoulder. “Oren, would you be so kind as to assure we have everyone’s attention?”

Oren stood a bit in his saddle. “ **ACHTUNG!** ” he barked sharply, and she was immediately sure that he would have easily controlled a battlefield much less a sleepy village square. Every eye on the street turned toward them, shops emptying slowly in curiosity.

“Thank you.” She took the taller boy by the arm and walked him to the well. “Step up onto the edge, Petrus.” He crossed his skinny arms and balked. She lowered her voice. “Or I will have Oren put you there.”

Petrus glared but stepped up onto the wide edge of the well, arms still crossed, still glowering.

“People of Ravenswood!” She shouted out and the people paused in their walking to glance her way, curious. “This young man has maligned a girl’s good name. He asked her to walk with him, and she said no.” Turning to look up at Petrus she tucked her hands behind her back like a lawyer in a courtroom. “Do you think yourself handsome?”

“What?” He blinked at her.

“Do you think you are handsome?” Keeping her voice loud enough that people nearby could hear. Those out of the reach of clarity began to move closer until there was a bit of a crowd. 

“I… I dunno. Better’n some.” He mumbled.

“Please do speak up.” She lifted her own voice to carry in illustration. “Are you hard working? Are you clean? Do you speak well? Are you generous with your time? When you encounter this girl, are you the sort who offers to help her with her work? To lighten her burden? Do you make her day better by caring more about her feelings than your own? Do you do anything that would make her choose to walk with you? I say no!”

He was blushing and frowning as the crowd was buzzing with mutters and snatches of laughter.

“A girl’s reputation is a fragile thing. A thin pane of glass that if a hard word shatters it, it can never be repaired. Do you wish to hurt this girl?”

“No…” He grumbled. “I just .. I was angry.”

“Repeat after me, and do make it loud and clear so everyone can hear you. I.. am an ass.”

“I am an… ass.” he said it at least audibly.

“Who threw a harsh word like a child throwing a tantrum.”

He repeated it, his voice cracking as he lifted it.

“I do not deserve her forgiveness….” She let him echo her words. “But I will beg it every day until the new moon releases me from my vow.”

She pulled him down when he’d sworn the last, looking around the crowd. “Let the sentence stand. When the moon begins its path back to brightness,let that light be a new beginning for all parties.” She stepped away, dragging him along to rejoin Ernst at the corner. The street began to clear as she looked into his eyes. “Every day, you will take her a gift. A flower, a song, a poem. Something from your heart, not your purse. You offer it to her, and you beg her to forgive you. Wash your face and hands before you go, comb your hair, put on a clean shirt. Each day when this is done, you turn your little bony butt around and you come to the castle where I will see to it you are given the opportunity to improve yourself so that one day, you may be worthy of walking with her. Am I understood, young man?”

“Yes, Lady Wilhelm.” he said with a tight jaw.

“As for you, Ernst, you will tell your Pa that he is to make certain she is available each day after breakfast to hear his apology” She reached into her purse and withdrew a small card with her husbands signet seal embossed in wax and handed it to him. “So he will know this order comes from the castle. If I hear one word that you raised a hand to him without very good provocation, or that you are caught taunting or mocking him, I will haul you up on that well and make certain everyone knows how Petrus was able to believe your sister was walking without an escort. No tailor in this town will ever make you trousers in any color but brown for the rest of your life!” Her brows lifted as if casting some kind of terrible curse and he flinched and nodded. “You are both dismissed.” She flitted her hand at them and moved to mount her horse.

The boys walked off. They were not friends, but they were no longer fighting. She sighed contentedly and then caught Margareta’s face. “What?”

“Ugh…” She gawped. “Everyone was gawping at you. Why didn’t you just ignore them. They’re rabble.”

“They are my people, Margareta. From the lowest peasant to my own Lord, each is a part of Ravenswood and each has their own special contribution to the whole. Without the blacksmiths there would be no plows. Without the breeders of oxen and horses, how would the plows break the land for the growing of crops? Without farmers, there would be no food. Without food, who would live here? Without the citizens, what would Wilhelm even be lord of? We are all connected to one another, Margareta.” She gave her horse a nudge and it began to walk forward and out of the village, heading up the hill toward the castle.

“I think it's dreadful. I would never want to have people gossiping that I lowered myself to deal with the problems of peasants. It’s unbecoming in a Lady.”

“I respectfully disagree.” Oren spoke up. He was irascible and taciturn and obviously didn’t give a damn what the blonde thought of him. “I think it speaks well of you, My Lady, to think of Ravenswood as your home and of us as your people.”

“Thank you, Oren.” She nodded gently in his direction to show that she was not unhappy he had openly disagreed with her sister. “A Lady I am, Margareta, by adoption, by marriage, but beneath that I am just a person. As are you. Say that tomorrow the Julosian hordes overran the Zemni Fields and your title was as worthless as dust. Who would you be then? You cannot live as though your title defines you. It is what you do that matters.” 

Margareta huffed. “I cannot believe we were raised in the same house. If Grandfather could hear you now he would be so very disappointed.” 

Renata sighed softly. That, she could not argue with.


	28. Chapter 28

The days passed with barely tolerable tension in the household. Caspar had often spoken in private with Lucinda who confessed that Margareta was a soap bubble filled with a mysterious mix of possibilities. Fragile and tense, the slightest thing could cause that bubble to burst, unleashing tears or a tirade meant to cut whoever was near. She did not eat much, and what she did attempt was pushed away and insulted. She was, as he had surmised when he met her, a truly unhappy person.

It was well after noon on the fourth day of Lady Greier’s visit when her errant husband made his arrival. The ladies had ventured into the village with the cook that morning so Margareta could choose the ingredients herself for her husband’s favorite dish to welcome him. He and Wilhelm had been chatting in the library about the possibility that The Crowing Cock Tavern, which had had two small fires in as many months, was in need of renovation before a truly dangerous fire occurred and took out half the block with it. Jürgen, one of the guards, cleared his throat at the door. “My Lord.” he bowed low. “There is a visitor at the gate. He will not give his name, nor will he be dissuaded. He insists he must speak to you.”

Wilhelm groaned and reached to pull his doublet from the back of a nearby chair, rolling his sleeves back down, tying his collar, and dressing quickly. The summer had passed, but then as it often did, chose to return for a final oppressive visit. Caspar followed, curious as to who might be so foolish as to think that after the troubles this house had suffered, that unwelcome guests would set foot in the courtyard. 

The man at the gate was built in such a way that Caspar would have laid good money there was orc somewhere in his lineage. Wide shouldered and thick-armed he sat on a horse that looked, if possible as ill-tempered as its rider. His face was not unhandsome, but he wore a snarl like it was a tattoo he could never be rid of. He was dark-haired, and had not shaved in a day or two, so it was hardly surprising the guards had stopped him.

“Tell these idiots to let me pass.” He barked as he looked down at them. 

“I suppose that would depend on who you are, Sir,” Wilhelm asked politely, his hand resting on the sword at his hip idly. 

“I am Thomas Greier. Where is my wife?”

Wilhelm offered a smile that was as shallow as a tea saucer. “Ah, Herr Greier.” A snap of his heels, his head bobbed once in a clipped bow. Looking up he gave a faintly stern look to the guards. “Karl, Rolph, shame on you.” he chuckled. “It’s obvious this man is no threat. He’s harmless. Forgive them, Sir. They mistook you for someone dangerous. See to his horse, men. Sir, a drink?” He turned, his smile his own as he walked casually back toward the castle. 

The look on the man’s face was like the sweetest mead. To be called harmless in such a way, it stripped him of his feelings of power in an instant. He slid from the saddle and threw the reins toward the waiting guard, his jaw tight as he walked swiftly to catch up to Wilhelm. Caspar had to draw a slow deep breath as he followed to keep from laughing aloud at the sight. 

Though Greier was shorter than Wilhelm by a few inches he likely outweighed him by half. He had that wide-shouldered, narrow-hipped build of a young man who, in his middle age would gain a belly and look like a barrel balanced atop a pair of bent boards. For now, though, it was all muscle and he radiated an air of malice. “Where is she?”

“Your Lady has gone with her sister to the village. You know how women are.” An airy flit of his hand as Wilhelm mounted the steps and opened the great oak door, holding it to allow Greier to pass, a little smirk flashed behind his back as Caspar followed them in. “My man, Caspar.” By way of introduction as they moved toward the sitting room. “You must be parched. I will call for an afternoon repast and some port wine.” He turned toward Geier. “Do you favor port?”

“Got any beer?”

“Of course.” Caspar saw the nod and closed the door as he stepped out, making his way to the kitchen to deliver the order. When he returned with the cart but ten minutes later, the room’s atmosphere had changed dramatically. The tension was almost palpable. 

“Beer, Herr Greier?” He smiled as he pushed the cart in and offered out the tankard. A look toward Wilhelm told instantly of how tenuous the man’s hold to his temper was. A glass of port poured and taken over, he assured it was safely in Wilhelm’s hand before he lifted the dome from the tray of cold sliced sausages, bread, and cheese and set it in his Lord’s guest’s reach. 

“As I was saying, pretty soon Yrrosa will be the hub for all goods moving in or out of the Truscan Empire. Which is why I wanted to talk to you. Just what did the old man have to give you to take _die schreckschraube_ off his hands?” He attacked the platter like he’d not eaten in a week, crumbs tumbling from his lips and down his shirt, his chin glossy beneath the scruff with grease, beer guzzled so greedily that streams tickled down and dribbled wet splotches on his chest. 

“Another tankard, for our guest,” Wilhelm spoke so softly, so coldly that Caspar was afraid he’d return to find the order was not required as their guest would be dead. Still, he bowed his head and backed from the room quickly, closing the door. Instantly, however, he simultaneously began flagging down anyone who might be passing while he pressed his ear to the door, trying to listen. His flapping struck something and he pulled away only to hiss “More beer” under his breath at the girl before returning to his eavesdropping. 

“...was the only prize I demanded for myself.” Wilhelm’s voice lowered and he could not hear the rest. 

“That is what I mean” Greier was not at all attempting to be quiet as he replied. “She’s older, sure, but it’s Margareta who’s blood.”

A hand tapped his shoulder and Caspar nearly knocked the beer from the girl’s hands as he stood up swiftly. Catching it between his hands, he gave a nod and leaned forward to kiss her quickly on her cheek and then turn, opening the door and smiling politely as he brought it in. He gave Wilhelm a look of concern and insinuated himself between them. “More beer, Herr Greier?” 

“About time.” he snatched it with one hand and shoved out the near-empty one in Caspar’s direction without looking. “You must admit, Lord von Friedrich, that you’ll be stuck having to run a manor and oversee farms and breweries and merchants all the way across the country when the old man goes toes up. What say you and me make a deal. When he goes, you make your wife sign everything over to me. I’ll send you a portion of the profits for… five years?”

As he spoke, Caspar slipped back away quietly, blending as he often did into the background, silently watching. 

“I was told you might not even be dwelling in the Truscan Empire for much longer. Your Lady spoke of a possible relocation to the Menagerie Coast.” Wilhelm took another sip of his port, choosing, it appeared, to keep his head as he simmered in his chair. 

“Well, yeah, it’s possible.” He seemed to be unsure if that was the sure thing his wife did. Perhaps Lady Greier had misunderstood the situation or more than likely, he had made her think he was a bigger deal than he was. “I can hire a steward if that happens. I mean, we agree, the lands should have, by rights, gone to me anyway.” 

“A point of contention. “ _Der König_ himself allows that adoption is as legal as birth. If sons born on the wrong side of the blanket could not be adopted … well, I know of several royals who would be quite unhappy to know they aren’t the heirs they’ve believed themselves to be.”

“There’s the point right there. Sons. Women have no place straining themselves with attempting to understand such important things as taxes and land management and so forth. They should concentrate on the things they are good for.” He gave a low, rude chuckle and took another long gulp of beer.

“You were, I surmise, a frequent visitor to Lord Rosenfeld’s home before I wed Renata?” He ran his thumb idly across the arm of his chair as he cradled his wine and forced his breathing to keep even.

“All the time. Well, until he got word that he’d found a higher bidder and the invitations stopped coming. Of course, you got tricked into marrying the other one so I got back on the list.”

“In your time there, how would you describe it?” 

“I don’t get what you mean.” He blinked stupidly, seemingly unaware how close he was to finding himself impaled on that ceremonial but all-too-real blade that rested now beside his lord’s chair.

“Would you say the grounds were well kept? The house in good repair? The animals healthy and the staff hard-working? Was the food plentiful? Did you feel comfortable there? Welcome?”

“Well, yeah.” he took another gulp of beer. “The old man takes good care of the place, sure.”

“Lord Rosenfeld was as much responsible for taking care of that place as the fire in the kitchen was responsible for the soup. Everything of use or merit was due to Renata’s hand. She kept the books, she ensured both the workers and the gentry remained content, she handled the household, the servants, and she did so with a generosity and diligence that I have rarely seen in any creature, man or woman.” he rose from his chair slowly, sword in hand. He carefully buckled it back around his hips as he spoke. “Your room is in the north wing. I will have Caspar show you to it. I recommend you take a bath before your Lady returns as you look and smell like you’ve just been drug from an alehouse floor.” A quiet sniff of scorn. “And, Herr Greier... if you malign my Lady in my presence again, I will ensure the last thing your tongue tastes is the inside of your own asshole.” A gesture of pulling the former out then shoving up the latter leaving no doubt his implication. 

The bleary-eyed man watched as Wilhelm stalked out of the room, and Caspar was quietly thanking every benevolent deity that he’d held his temper so well. “Herr Greier… please. Follow me.” He put the mask on of warmth and welcome, motioning for the man to accompany him. He seemed dull, perhaps from the two beers, perhaps from just a lack of brains, but he caught up to the fact he had been threatened very quickly. His mood was sour as he followed to the guest room. “Dear Gods!” he recoiled at the decor of the room. 

“Please do make yourself comfortable. I will send someone up to draw your bath.” 

“Send a bottle of something strong too.” he stripped off his vest, his shirt yellowed with sweat.

“Of course. Your things are in the wardrobe. Dinner is at six.” he closed the door and shuddered, walking away quickly. There was no way he was sending any of the female staff within fifty yards of that room. After sending up Luca with a bottle of whisky and directions to fill the bath and then be as unobtrusive as possible, Caspar sought out his Lord. He found him pacing back and forth like a caged panther before the windows in the conservatory. 

“Well, that was deeply unpleasant,” Caspar said as he closed the door behind him gently. “I am both proud and shocked that you did not cleave his head away from his shoulders.” 

“The day is not yet ended.” Wilhelm turned from the glass and made a soft ‘tsk’ sound between his teeth. “I have been considering it.” Caspar could tell he was not lying. “It is a simple thing. The road is reported to be unsafe. A rider alone? It would be heartbreaking, of course, she does seem to care for him, but… a widowed Margareta is still a prize.” 

“Wil…” Constantin raised his hands to halt the line of thought. “You can’t.” He cocked his head. “But if you did, don’t be so pedantic as a simple roadside bludgeoning. Why not launch him at the mountain with a trebuchet? See him hit like a child making an angel in the snow and then…” he mimed it. “... slowly slide down. Or… he could trip in the stables and break his neck, non-fatally of course, and lie there paralyzed while his own horse drowns him in excrement.”

Wilhelm chuckled faintly. “Drunkenly taking a midnight piss only to be swallowed whole by a bulette?”

“So much more fitting.” Caspar nodded and, back and forth they went. Each dramatic and fanciful imagining of Thomas Greier’s demise served to vent that bile and frustration that had infected his friend’s heart until he was visibly recovered. 

“I … I suppose you are right. I simply find myself absolutely disgusted by the man. I will, for the sake of politeness, restrain myself for long enough to get through dinner, then I may well have you invent some desperate need for my intervention in Druvenlode. I feel bad thinking of abandoning Renata to those wolves but ...if I remain I will kill him, I’m sure of it.” 

“Hmm.” he sat down and thought on it. “What if you did arrange a visit to Druvenlode. Surely it would be easier to deal with the man when he has distractions all around. The Ladies could enjoy the shopping or the theater and I imagine there are all kinds of troubles that Thomas could find if he were not careful.” A tone of casual suggestion similar to his planting of the seed to marry Renata had been and likewise, he saw the seed take root and spread in Wilhelm’s mind. 

“I suppose that is true.”

“I will handle everything, My Lord.” Caspar said as he bowed his head. “Just give me until tomorrow noon.” He rose, a smile subtly caught upon his lips. 

“Tomorrow noon.” Wilhelm agreed soberly. 

The door to the front hall opened almost the moment they left the conservatory. Renata, Margareta and the cook moving inside, the latter, with a quick bow and laden arms hurried off toward the kitchens as the Ladies removed their riding gloves and cloaks. 

“Greetings My Lord.” Renata sighed softly, her eyes scanning his features cannily. “How fares your day?”

“It was quite pleasant until an hour ago when your husband arrived, Lady Greier.” 

Margareta paled and wavered as she stood. “Where is he?” a note of panic in her tone. 

“He is in his room, I believe…” called after his fleeing sister-in-law as she was already racing up the stairs. A shake of his head before he looked back up at Renata and motioned her to walk with him, leading her out into the garden before he spoke. “You warned me, but I thought you were being dramatic. He is the most unpleasant man I have ever met.”

She sighed softly. “Still, she can see nothing but good in him.” 

“Caspar tells me that Lucinda reported your sister to have only two topics of conversation since her arrival. Complaints, and worrying about her husband. She seemed to think she had to be standing at the door awaiting his arrival like a faithful hound. I would think it sweet if it did not make me so uneasy.” 

“I have never liked Thomas. It isn’t as if he ever did anything outright, not that I saw myself, but there were rumors and tales that reached my ears.” 

“It is said that most rumors have, at their core, a seed of truth.”

“He likes to make himself feel bigger by making others feel small. He always addressed me as if I was an empty-headed child. At the worst it was annoying. And…” She fell silent and frowned a bit. 

“And?” He pressed, curious. 

“And I do not like him.” 

He nodded and did not ask further. It was obvious she was going to say something else but held her tongue for some reason. He’d made his own guesses based on Margareta’s behavior. He had seen it in his mother in the times he visited after he’d left home with Caspar. Attentiveness approaching fearful worship. The panic that he might catch her unprepared. Hearing that he was, by Renata’s description, a bully, only made his suppositions more resolute. 

“Then I will not like him either.” He nodded, his own hands behind his back, crossed at the wrist as they strolled in comfortable quiet for several minutes more before he spoke as he felt. “It is pleasant to have some time with you alone.” 

“Indeed, My Lord. I am sorry I have only talked of my sister’s woes.” 

“It is what weighs on your heart. I would not expect any less from you.” He glanced toward the castle. “Do you think a change of scenery might help? I have business calling me away to Druvenlode and I thought it might be pleasant to go together, all of us. I have contacts there that I wish to introduce Thomas to. He runs a shipping business you said?”

“I do not think he runs it, My Lord, but he is employed there I am told.” She bit her lip. “Forgive my cruelty, My Lord, when I beg you not to introduce him to anyone with whom you value a business relationship. He will bring you only trouble.” 

“Do not worry. I am not so foolish as you seem to think. It will be easier for the people I wish to protect if they know his name and face. I will make it clear to them, though not to him, that this is a man to be wary of and to mark him in their memory. After we leave, the news will spread further and he will find all respectable doors closed to him, and the less-than-respectable ones already prepared to cheat him before he can cheat them.”

She drew back a bit, smiling softly. “Have I told you today how brilliant you are?”

“You have not. I am, however, willing to forgive that slight if you will do me a favor.”

“A favor? I do not see how I could be so rude as to refuse so small a sacrifice. What may I do for you, My Lord?”

"I know that since you have been here you have, shall we say balked at accepting that a Lady requires personal servants."

"I spent so long without such pampering that I do find it difficult to sit like some mannequin being dressed for a shop window.” 

"As a favor then, will you attempt to alter that line of thinking? It is not shameful. The servants are employed to do their job after all. If they’re not doing it, I will have to let them go.” 

She sighed, not wanting to be the cause of someone losing their job. “Yes, My Lord. I will do so.” 

“Good. Maybe then you can get to breakfast before the eggs are cold.” A slight twinge of amusement quirking the corner of his mouth, spreading to a wider smile when she gasped and looked affronted, then narrowed her eyes at him without malice.

“You knew I was a night owl when you married me, My Lord. Thankfully I know the truth of you now and shall not take offense.” 

“What truth is that?” he inquired distractedly.

“That you looooove me.” her hands clasping under her chin as she gave a deep fluttery sigh, eyes heavenward. 

He stopped in his tracks, his heart dropping to his stomach for a moment. He felt the blood drain from his face and the cold hand of panic at his nape. The word that had never been spoken aloud between them echoed in his head as he stared. _Love_. 

She looked confused, then chuckled. “My Lord, forgive me. I am sorry. I was only teasing you. Such insipid twaddle is not for a mind as clever as yours.” Concern overtook the humor and she moved to set her palm on his forehead. “You seem a bit off tonight. Perhaps you should take dinner in your room.”

He snapped his fingers around her wrist. “I spend my nights without you. A few stolen moments at breakfast and then all day I have been devoid of your companionship. I do not care if the sovereign of the Nine Hells himself were coming to dinner, I will not give up another moment of your company. Am I understood?” 

“Yes, My Lord, of course.” She said breathlessly, eyes wide. 

He pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist before he released her. “Go change for dinner. I imagine it is going to be a very tense evening. Wear something you do not mind getting blood on.” 

It was her turn to go pale and his turn to grin crookedly. “A jest for a jest, My Lady.” he bowed politely and offered his arm, walking her back to the castle, not sure he had been joking at all.


	29. Chapter 29

There was no bloodshed, but dinner was a brutal experience. Matthias had, as usual, eaten early and gone into the village with a few of the off-duty guard, so it had been only the sisters and their respective husbands. They arrived together, Margareta looking sedate and delicate on his arm while Thomas looked clean, handsome, and devoted. He showed her to her chair. “Lord von Friedrich.” A bow, then another toward her. “Lady Wilhelm” His eyes ran over her as his head lifted and she felt a shudder she could not repress. 

Conversation was light at first. Wilhelm brought up Druvenlode, and it was obvious that Thomas was eager. There was a covetousness in his nature that he made far too poor an attempt to hide.

“If you wish, Margareta, to save you time…” she offered as the soup was served. “You and Herr Greier might as well prepare to leave from Druvenlode when your week is ended. We can ride north together as far as the Amber Crossroads and then part company? That way you do not have to make the journey all the way to Ravenswood, only to turn again to reach the Havenpath.” She smiled encouragingly to her sister who seemed slightly diminished. “We can pack a luncheon and picnic by the river if the weather is agreeable.” 

“If Thomas thinks that wise.” Margareta’s eyes flicked up toward him.

“Well, it seems wasteful really. Taking two carriages the whole way there and back when you could just leave ours here and see that it is waiting at the Crossroads when we reach them.” He had brought a bottle with him and filled his cup again with strong liquor. “Of course… having privacy might be better.” he gave a leering smile over toward his wife who blushed a bit and smiled back toward him. “I suppose I can agree to it.” With each swallow, it seemed his manners were being eroded. 

Margareta sat in uncharacteristic silence as Thomas spent the next hour singing his own praises, spinning brutal and gory stories of beatings he had meted out to those who didn’t give him his proper respect, of women he had bedded, of his upcoming transfer to the coast where he made it seem he would be a veritable king of men. All the while he was talking he was shoving his food in against the tide of words so each glance in his direction was a vista of mastication.

The only bright spot in the night was that each glance toward Wilhelm made her feel as if there were no one in the room but them. He seemed to be willing her to feel his gratitude. His reassurance that no matter how bad it got, he was there and she was safe. All attempts to speak of anything that was not Thomas was either spoken over or simply ignored, so they eventually quit trying until he had fallen to drunk mumbling and nearly went face-down in his _leberknödel_ , ending the dinner on a sour note. 

The guards were called to lift him up and half walk, half drag him up the stairs to his room, Margareta frowning faintly as she moved to follow. Renata caught up and set her hand on her sister’s arm. “Margareta, you did not seem yourself all evening. Is everything alright?”

“Of course.” She lifted her chin and sniffed faintly. “I was just out too long. Dallying with you in your dull little village when I ought to have been here to welcome Thomas properly. He has every right to be upset. Having to be in a strange house and no one familiar to make him feel he’s appreciated and respected. Your damned husband was terribly rude to him. He was going to take me away from this mausoleum after he gave Lord von Friedrich a piece of his mind for all the slights he’s given us, but he has, it seems he has chosen to be the bigger man and allow your husband to make it up to him.” She looked toward the stairs, the guards having just managed to drag him to the top. “I’d better catch up, he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

She was gone before Renata could say a word to stop her. She loved her sister, even knowing her faults, and she had never liked Thomas. As it stood, she was contemplating taking over her husband’s goddess’s job and seeing him to the next world herself. She flinched when hands slid across her arms, realizing in an instant it was only Wilhelm. He set his chin on the top of her head and sighed.

“I truly hate that man.”

“He is, as far as I am aware, devoid of any redeeming qualities, My Lord. But do not waste your energy hating him. It poisons you and does nothing to him. Pity him if you wish, for being weak and sad.”

He wound his arms around her as if to protect her from the very idea of Thomas Greier. “I feel pity for Margareta. He is a vampire, draining her life. Her beauty will quickly fade under the pall of his cruelty and she will be left hollow.” He sighed. “I would not wish him on you, My Lady, but were he yours, he would find himself staked in the sunlight before he could raise his hand to you. You are more than beauty. You are strength.”

She couldn’t think of anything to say to that. She was too angry at the situation. His closeness brought her comfort and she didn’t shy away from it. “I take it back,” she said finally. “You may hate him if you like.”

He chuckled, the motion of it soft against her back. “I will consider it.” he inhaled slow and deep. “I have learned of what you did in the square. Imagine my surprise to hear from Gilbert that my wife is meeting with a scrawny ginger at the gate each day. Naturally I was curious as to why.” 

“Oh.” She felt a pang of embarrassment. “I do not know what I was thinking. He just seemed so young and stupid. I could tell that Petrus liked the girl, but did not know how to express it. I hoped that you would let Caspar have at him. Teach him how to be a suave gentleman.”

“Caspar?” He stepped back and turned her so he could look at her. “Are you implying I could not do that, Renata?” He asked quietly. 

“My Lord, Caspar will make him an arrow, flying directly into the heart of whatever lady he seeks to bring down.” She smiled demurely. “To learn from you, he would become a ballista.” Her blues rising to his own, betraying herself utterly. “You are a siege machine, My Lord.”

“Go to your room.” he spoke with a tightly wound spring sound of tension that both thrilled and frightened her a bit. “Before I forget we have a wall of paper between us.” She stepped out of his arms, and thankfully he allowed it. Her resolve was not strong enough to fight him when she wished to lose so badly. “Goodnight, Renata.”

“Goodnight, Wilhelm.” A step was taken away, then another, turning and walking with determination to the lonely expanse of her bed and the promise of another night of tormenting dreams. Sleep would not come easily though, she knew. Pacing in the confines of her room, the evening sun dipping lower until only the faint light of the village beneath the deep indigo sky was visible from her window. A knock at the door made her jump and she set her palm on her rapidly beating heart. 

“Yes?” She spoke up, shaking off the sudden startle. 

“My Lady?” A high-pitched voice barely penetrated the wood of the door. “I am sent to attend you.” 

She almost spoke that there was no need but she recalled she’d promised Wilhelm to accept that servants were paid to serve and that her stubbornness would cost someone a job. She actually did find herself missing Lucinda the last few days. Moving to the door she opened it and stepped back to allow the new maid to enter only to find a man kneeling there, head bowed, his servant’s livery and cap clean and new. It took only that second to realize who it was before he lifted his head, uncoiled from his kneel and stepped inside all in a single motion, closing the door behind him. 

“My Lord…” She was torn between amusement and annoyance. “What are you doing?”

“I am your servant, come to attend you.” He bowed his head. 

“You are ..” she chuckled. “You’re being silly. Go back before someone finds you here?” She reached up and brushed her fingers over his jaw, again possessed by that feeling of comfort that his proximity was lending. 

He gently took her by the shoulders and moved her to her vanity and sat her down. “You promised to accept your servant’s aid, My Lady.” 

She narrowed her eyes at him in the mirror a moment before she sighed and folded her hands in her lap. “So I did.” 

She was resolved to be an obliging mistress, to let him do his work and then bid him goodnight, showing herself to be a woman of her word. She was not, however, prepared for the way he did his job. Every action that had been mundane in the hands of others became something provocative in his. She felt as well as saw the slow drag of the pins that held her veil and wimple together being pulled. He leaned faintly against her shoulder as he laid out the pins in the shallow dish on her vanity. The linen unwound, drug softly away and folded before he set it down. 

She wanted to tell him it wasn’t required, that she could do it, to rebuff his tender fingers gentle undoing of the wound braids at the nape of her neck, letting the heavy plaits fall against her shoulder blades as the combs that held them secure were stacked in his palm, then tipped to join the pins in the dish. Her tongue was too heavy it seemed. 

“I do not know, My Lady, why you insist on hiding your hair so. It is so very pretty.” 

“I am a married woman. I feel that to go about bareheaded would make it seem I am wishing to attract attention.” She nodded once. “It is a gesture of respect to my husband.” Clarified as if he were not said husband. 

“I see” His dexterous fingers undid the ties that held her braids secure and reached across her to pluck up the hairbrush. She bit back a groan as they were undone, the tight tension against her scalp eased and she sighed softly at the rising throb of her pulse under the skin. Slowly, the bristles began to drag from her crown downward, gently, slowly, teasingly soft motions that made her hyper-aware. 

“So beautiful.” He mused and she opened her eyes. “Your hair, My lady. It is quite lovely. Is this your mother’s gift, or your father’s?”

“Oh, I suppose my mother’s. My father, my true father I mean, died before I was born. I do not know what he looked like.” 

“That is a shame, My Lady. To lose one’s father before they even can know them.” His brushing soothing and relaxing her. “Was he noble?”

“I do not think so. My mother said he was a youthful mistake. She married because she was in love and …” She paused and looked at him in the mirror. “What is your name?”

“Um.. Wil, My Lady.” 

“Well, Wil, you must swear to me that what I say in here shall never reach My Lord’s ears, or that of any other servant for I know you are a gossipy lot.” 

“You have my most ardent vow, My Lady.” he bowed his head and then resumed the brushing. 

“My mother thought that she could be unburdened by restraint once she was married. That love would mean he would always be there. Instead, he was disgusted by her show of ardor and left her. He was killed in a skirmish with the Dominion never knowing he had spawned a child. She raised me alone, her family so scattered and decimated that she had no one else. She met my father, my… adopted father, and he was agreeable and did not seek to shame her so.” 

The brush laid down, he nodded. “Still, if I may be so bold, My Lady, perhaps it was not the fault of your mother, but her ungrateful first husband. A woman’s love is a gift, and that he spurned it only speaks ill of him.” 

“I wonder from time to time who he was. His people I mean. I know nothing of him save that he hurt my mother and that he is dead. I do not even know his name. She would not speak it aloud, even to my father, from whom in the years after her death, I managed to glean the little I know of him.” 

He nodded and moved to kneel down beside her, lifting her skirt only enough to bare the tops of her feet so he could begin the unlacing of her shoes. She felt like a complete fool, and at the same time, found his attentions rather thrilling in a way. She had missed him terribly, she had to admit it. One foot, then the other bared, and he took her shoes to be set by the door. “I will take them when I go out, My Lady.” He kept his posture and tone deferential. “Do you wish me to draw you a bath, My Lady?”

She twitched as a little frisson raced up her spine. The thought of being not only naked but wet and him with a cloth rubbing over her skin was too much. Her cheeks flaming she shook her head. “No. No, I’m alright. I…” She shivered. “I prefer to bathe in the morning before breakfast. I suspect I will change that when winter comes. Cold weather is less forgiving of a wet head. That or I will have to spend hours by the fire drying it before I come down and My Lord will be doubly annoyed at my tardiness. Already he needles me for not rising before the sun as he does.” She realized she was babbling and set her fingers against her lips. 

“Please, allow me to attend you as you deserve, My Lady.” He moved to fill the kettle and set it to heating. She sat, achingly aware of him as he set out the basin and the towels, and when the kettle was steaming, removed it from the fire. Laying out a large towel on the floor before the fire, he returned and held out his hand. 

She rose like a construct without a will of her own. She followed as he lead, pausing as he slowly undressed her. She found his touch was at once exciting and practical. No attempt seemed to be made to tease her, but still she found his dutiful actions set her heart to stammer. He did nothing that Lucinda did not, but there were continents, vast seas, worlds between the way her maid’s hands felt and those of her new ‘servant’. It was not cold that left her skin prickled with goosebumps under her thin chemise as he sank to his knees before her, lifting it to take hold of the garters that held up her linen stockings and drug them down over her knees, calf, each foot lifted and left bare. He held her hem as he stood slowly, peeling it up overhead and draping it across his arm as he stepped back. 

“I am afraid, My Lady.” He said softly. “That I am unused to such elegant company. I find my tongue is straining at my teeth to say things which I ought not.” 

“It is my wish that my servants always feel that they are free to speak their thoughts, as long as they are respectful.” She gave a nervous chuckle and drug her hair over her shoulders to cover her bare breasts. “You may ask Lucinda, she will tell you so herself.” 

“If that is the case.” her stockings collected and laid aside with the remainder of her discarded clothing. “I wish to say that I believe you to be the most beautiful woman in all of Exandria.” He averted his gaze as he took her hand and moved her to stand on the towel. The hot water poured into the basin, then cold, then more hot, until the water was steamy but not scalding. The cloth dipped in, wrung out, and he began at her toes. “You are not like a daisy or a delicate bauble of gold.” he worked up over her ankle, her shin, her calf, her knee. “You are the beauty of the mountains and the sea and... No, you are the sun. When you are present, you are the most brilliant thing, and yet…” he paused as his hands worked up across her thigh, then stopped just shy of anything improper, dropping to rinse and rewarm the cloth and begin on the other foot. “... you illuminate everything you touch and for so many, it is easy to forget that without the sun, everything else, the sea, the mountains, the flowers...would be lost in the darkness.” 

She felt tears prickle at her eyes and she shook her head. “You are indeed a very bold one, Wil. I suspect that you are quite popular with the maids.” Jest was her only defense against the tide of emotion. 

“There are other women here?” He looked up as the washcloth slid along the inside of her thigh. “I had not noticed.” 

“Please.” She whispered. “I can’t …” She couldn’t bear not touching him. Feigning disinterest and propriety. 

“You can’t what?” He said as the cloth skirted her sex and moved over her hip. “Can’t enjoy being cared for?” The cloth again dunked and wrung, like a mother cat’s tongue it felt rough against her heated skin. Caressing her belly as he rose, moving around to wash down her back, over the curve of her buttocks. “Can’t allow yourself to be treated like the Lady you are?” He lifted the cloth as he brushed her hair back and washed her chest, the warm trickles running down along the swell of her breasts. “Pampered and spoiled?”

“Who wishes to keep a spoiled thing, Wil?” She gasped as the cloth brushed a hardened nipple and sent tingles to echo between her thighs. “When a thing spoils, it is thrown out.” 

“Yes, My Lady. Please forgive my dull tongue.” He slid down again to warm the cloth and lift it up, sliding between her thighs. “You are honey, sweet and incapable of spoilage.” Every rub of his hand, barely separated from her too-tender flesh made her knees threaten to buckle and each dip of her hips dropped her against him more firmly which only made it harder to keep upright. 

“I.. I am sure I am quite clean.” She whimpered faintly as he withdrew his hand the cool kiss of air rushed to replace the heated and humid feel of the washcloth. 

“I would strive to be certain, My Lady. I do not wish to have my service seem slapdash and incomplete.”

“I am quite pleased. I will praise your attentiveness when I speak to my Lord.” 

“You need not fear.”He said softly as he collected the rag and basin and rose to stand. “I will not tell him, do not worry, My Lady. Your secret is safe with me.” He set the things on the nearby table, and the pitcher as well his back to her. 

“What secret is that, Wil.” She began to look about for her nightgown. 

“That you are lusting after your servant.” He turned slowly. “That I have made you ache and burn and needfully grind against my touch like a starving dog on the wrong side of the pantry door.”

She frowned at the implication, for while true, he was not her servant he was her Lord and husband and even insinuating she was untrue was mildly hurtful. “That is … not the case.” She could not deny she was aroused, but it was her husband who sparked that desire. 

“I can see it. I can smell your desire like heady perfume in the air. Your body tells me the truth your lips seek to conceal.” He spoke matter-of-factly. “As I said, I will keep your secret. I know your husband is jealous. If I betray your desire, I must then confess my own and he will kill me for taking such pleasure in touching what is his.” 

“I think it best that you go. I promised my Lord that I would indulge his wish that I acquiesce to being treated as if I cannot brush my own hair or wash my own body or find my own damned nightgown…” She huffed and moved to pull it out of the armoire and hold it up against herself protectively. “And I have done so. You are dismissed.” 

He made no move to leave. “I cannot go, My Lady. I have not completed my duties.” 

“I assure you that you have. There is nothing more I need.” 

“Isn’t there?” He moved at last.


	30. Chapter 30

He began moving through the room, extinguishing the lights until only the low fire in the grate and a single candle at her bedside illuminated the room. It was mildly vexing to be standing about naked with her nightgown hugged to her, so she hastily pulled it over her head and drug her hair out, pushing it off her face in annoyance at its tickling as its unbound strands began to cling to her cheeks and neck. At the bed, he folded down her covers and motioned toward the spot. “To bed, My Lady.” 

She padded over, her bare feet quiet as she looked up at him, vexed a bit by his words, burning still from his touch. She lay down, her hands folded over her stomach, legs outstretched, prepared to be covered up as if she were a child being tucked in. It was mildly demeaning, but some small part of her was soothed by the idea of being cared for as she had been when she was a girl. He drew the blankets over and blew out the candle, the room only faintly illuminated by the low fire. 

“Goodnight, Wil. I won’t speak of your impertinence, but I think it best I have only female attendants in future.” 

He moved to collect her clothes, draping them across his arm. “So this is to be the last time I will be allowed to serve you here, My Lady?” He sounded almost sad. 

“Well, as you say, my husband is a jealous man.” She did not think him so, but it was as good an excuse as any. He didn’t speak. She didn’t hear him moving and when she glanced up he was still there, standing in the dim firelight. 

“I cannot say I am pleased to hear it, My Lady. You asked me to be honest, and then I am banished from your service because I spoke the truth. Perhaps I should have held my tongue more securely.” He cocked his head. “Or perhaps I have not unleashed it as I should. If I am to be sent away forever, I will assure my mistress is aware of what she is giving up.” He set aside the clothes and moved to the foot of her bed. “I pray you be still, My Lady. I have lost my employment. If you rouse the house, it will only cost me my life. Do you wish me dead?”

“No!” She gasped, then shook her head. “This is silly. You are not going to be killed by a jealous husband. There is nothing to be jealous over. You are he.” 

“Oh.” he said with a smirk. “That is how you wish to play this? I will oblige, My Lady. In the dark I will play His Lordship if that comforts you.” He lifted the covers up from the bottom of the bed and bared her feet as he crawled up onto the mattress and ran his hands over the tops and across her ankles. A last lingering stare before he took hold of the blankets and tossed them up and back, vanishing under them as his lips began to brush kisses along her bare legs. 

“Oh! Stop that!” She giggled and tried to keep still for fear of kicking him as his warm lips were tickling her shins. She felt his fingers curve under her knees and the tickle stopped in the stark shock of what she suddenly suspected was his plan. “Oh, oh My Lord, stop. You can’t. “ 

If he heard, he did not stop, his fingers gently drawing her knees to part so his tongue and lips and nipping teeth could play havoc with the skin of her inner thigh just above where he held her secure. There was no way to describe something made equally of thrill and shame. She pushed the blankets down to put her hands on his head as he attempted another surge northward. “Yes.” he groaned and nuzzled her thigh, his evening’s growth of pale beard slightly scratchy. “Guide me to where it feels best for you.” His hot breath panting against her flesh. “I want only your pleasure.” he reached up and slid her hands down, bending her fingers to tangle in his hair, then loosening his grip to scoop up her rump in his cradling palms. Lifting her against his mouth as if he were starving and her heated core was the only food in the world. 

She squealed and grit her teeth as his tongue lashed along the seam, lapping and suckling, her body set aflame with every motion of his wicked mouth. It was lewd, the sound of it, his rough breathing as he all but gnawed at her, fingers rising to slip within and move in deep, slow strokes. “Oh, My Lady I am drunk on your wine.” He moaned and sought the hard bud at the apex, running his tongue in tight circles until she was dizzy and breathless. “I live to serve your needs. To undress and bathe you, to taste your perfect sweetness on my lips each night. To see you slumber in sated peace.” He crooked his fingers within her, finding tender places that made her body tremble and her blood heat. “I feel your pleasure, My Lady. Your heat, your tightness. Allow me to bring you joy. My only reward is to know you are pleased.” He hissed against her and thrust his tongue inside of her, his hands digging into her hips as he worked her past the edge of sanity and her body was no longer her own, writhing in utter bliss, her hands clapped over her mouth to stem the scream of his name in ecstasy. Wave after wave, until she could not find up or down, connected to the world only by the strength of his hands and the feel of his intimate kisses. He seemed to be some kind of sexual vampire draining her from between her thighs. 

Every nerve was buzzing, her whole body aflame when he relented at last and she was left shaking and weak in the tousled bedding. Half-lidded eyes looked at him as he rose to his knees, making great show of cleaning his fingers with long, lascivious strokes of his tongue. “Do you still wish to send me away?”

She shuddered, fighting to slow her breathing, to draw some hope of self-respect back to herself. “I…” She could not find words. 

“You are sated, My Lady?” He dropped his hand and began to pet her mound with tender caresses that were almost chaste compared to what he had been doing. “Or do you crave more?” He licked his lips. “I am yours. Command me and I will give you anything you ask.” 

She flinched at the brushing of a tender spot and the subsequent surge of sensation. It was impossible to think of him as anyone’s servant. He had proven well enough that he was in utter control. “I love my husband.” She said softly.

The petting stopped and he looked down at her. “And yet you are, even now, drenched with lust for a servant whose tongue you writhed upon, screaming his name as you found your pleasure. For I heard you, My Lady. My name on your lips as sure as your sweet juices bathed my own.” He resumed his light-as-breath caresses. 

“Why are you doing this?” She pushed at his hand and he caught her wrist with his other hand and drug it away. 

“Because I adore you.” He admitted. “I only want to be granted the allowance to exalt you as you deserve. Let me serve you, My Lady. I am your most devoted slave. I will build temples to you. Renata, goddess of beauty and lust.”

She would have laughed if he did not sound so serious. “Please.” She swallowed hard. “I fear this is some test. That I am being judged for wanting you.” 

“Never.” he said as he leaned down and brushed his lips against her own. “What happens behind these doors is ours. There is only you and I, no matter what name we wear.” 

She nodded. 

“And you do want me?” 

“Yes.” she admitted. 

“Then command me.” he grinned slightly as he nuzzled her neck. 

She stiffened, unsure but she had been brave before. “If you seek to worship, you must know that I am a cruel goddess.” She murmured near his ear. “For is beauty not cruel? Is lust not a devouring beast?” She laid her hands on his back and dug her nails in, scratching down across lumbar, his body arching and his teeth pressing against her shoulder as he stifled his moan with her skin. “I demand a sacrifice of flesh.” 

He shuddered as he pulled back slowly, his hands gliding across her waist as he knelt between her thighs. “You are going to make this a very short evening, My Lady if you tempt me so.” 

She lifted her brows and, bolstered by the lack of light and the feeling of power his reassurance had given, she smiled slowly. “Spend yourself and I will with every part of me rouse you anew.” her tongue sliding across her lips. “Pour out your lust within me. Sanctify this temple.” Her hands roaming over her thinly veiled body as she watched his eyes darken and his face turn serious. 

He reached down and with both hands rent her nightgown open, and with another hard tug, pulled it away completely and threw it to the side, panting faintly. He wrenched himself free of his trousers and grit his teeth as he looked down at her. “Goddess of my idolatry...” He gripped himself tightly and stifled a moan as he ran his length through the tight grip of his fist. “You are burned in my mind. You are all I see. All I think about that gives me happiness.” He hunched his hips in tight thrusts as he stroked, already so near, he could feel the ache deepening. “Speak… tell me that I may have you …” 

She blinked as she watched him abusing himself, his flesh so hard and purpled, throbbing, glossed in his grip. It was strangely arousing to see him so desperate. “No.” She shivered. “Not yet. Beg.” Her eyes flicking up to his own. 

He gawped like a fish without water for a moment but nodded. “My Lady I … I plead. I beg your allowance. I am weak. Allow me to ease my lust so it may be renewed with greater vigor to better serve your pleasure.” His voice lowering in volume and pitch, almost a growl. 

“I allow it.” She whispered.

He needed no more, the desperate grunts marking every surge of heat that spattered upon her skin, branding where it lay, marking her with lustful streaks of pearl. His body twitched and flinched as he coaxed out every drop and then without a missed beat, dipped his hips and drove his still hard length into her, moving with deep pounding sways of his hips. She spread her legs wider and lifted herself faintly to meet him, feeling the stickiness between them as he leaned over her, one hand above her shoulder braced him up as the other claimed firm hold of her breast as he sought to drive himself clear into her ribcage from beneath. “It is… too much.” He lost himself in the sensation as he seemed unable to slow his cadence. 

She slid her hand around his neck, curling her fingers at the nape to draw his mouth to hers, kissing him deeply. Her tongue tasting the faint echo of her own sex on his lips and the awareness of it made her insides clench. “There is no ‘too much’. Only everything. Give me everything, Wil.” Her touch slid down his shoulders and back, feeling the welts her claws had left, sinking lower to dig her nails into his rump and pull him down into her without mercy, feeling the muscles tense and hard under her grip. He pulled away with a look of shock as with a surge of rough thrusts the heat within spread and grew as he trembled and gasped and then, still imbedded, fell atop her, breathing hard against her neck. 

“Damn you.” he shook from the force of how desperate he had been, how his skin prickled with stings where sweat had found the scratches and he knew himself marked by his lover’s nails. “He will never love you as I do.” He turned to press kisses against her cheeks, her lips, her neck. He felt strangely elated and yet guilty. He had somehow managed to cuckold himself. He rolled away to half sit, half kneel on the side of the bed, biting his lip. “Meet me in Druvenlode. Slip away. Come to me and let me taste you again.” 

She lay, her arm draped over her eyes, her smile almost tipsy seeming. “Why are you so strange My Lord?” She lifted her arm to peek out at him. “Have you not had your fill of tormenting me?” 

“Say you will meet me.” he took her arm from her eyes, bringing her fingers to his lips. “I will do anything.” 

“No.” She shook her head. “I can’t. It is too dangerous.” her face showing that she was serious. “I will be with Margareta and she will notice if I go missing. She will know I am... “ she rolled her eyes a moment . “Sneaking out to see my … whatever the male version of a leman is only to find he looks exactly like my Lord and Husband.” 

“Lord. Husband. Lay-man…” he said it so that it was, at least in jest between them, the answer to the question of what a male leman might be. “I am all of those things. Just as you are my wife, my Lady, my lover, my idol of pagan worship, my succubus…” he leaned down and brushed her lips with his own. 

She kissed him back, softly, tenderly, stark difference than the desperate wild abandon of earlier. “I am not a succubus.” She muttered. 

“Oh, but you could be if you chose. Sneaking into my room at night, horns, wings, something utterly whorish barely covering your body. Filling my head with lustful thoughts, seeking to drain my essence. “ He nipped at her chin. “Of course, they then give it to the inccubi who invade the dreams of the virtuous maid to make her writhe and plead for lustful undoing…” he sighed in a way that foretold that if he lingered with such thoughts as company, there would be a return to their sporting.

“Dear Gods you are a man of imagination!” She giggled and gazed up at him, pupils open wide in the near dark. “I think I may well live to ninety and find you still hobbling behind me with a toothless leer.” 

“Your lips to the Gods’ ears that it may be so.” he dropped the rest of the way to sit on the bed’s edge. “Say you will meet me.” 

“If I agree to this, will you quit my rooms and go get some rest?” she wanted nothing more than for him to curl up beside her, but it was too dangerous.

“Yes.” he said and reached across to pull the blankets back over her naked body. “I am sorry about the nightgown by the way. I will make sure to amply replace it.”

“Yes, you will.” She gave him a slightly peevish look that faded into a sleepy smile. “I will agree to meet you in Druvenlode.” 

“I will send word where and when, My Lady.” he smiled softly as he rose and attempted to fix his clothes, hiding the lack of laces on one side by draping her dress over his arm and keeping it in front of him as he pulled his cap over his hair and crept out through the adjoining room. She heard the door close gently, and then quiet. She had no time to reflect on the events that had occurred, nor to consider those that were promised. Exhaustion took her and she was asleep before she could even turn over.


	31. Chapter 31

“Welcome to Druvenlode.” Wilhelm smiled as he held out his hand to aid his wife in descending from the carriage. 

They had departed after breakfast, each couple to their own carriage, Matthias choosing to ride with the mounted guards that flanked them along the road. Wilhelm could not say how the others did, but his ride was quiet and uneventful. His wife had fallen to sleep almost before they reached the edge of Ravenswood and stayed that way for the whole of the journey. He woke her at the edges of Druvenlode, and by the time they had made their slow way through the busy mining city streets to _Zum Königskrone_ , in the Beneficiation District. 

Rising upward, _Zum Königskrone_ was four stories of carved stone, each floor a different shade of brown, fading as it rose from golden buff to a creamy near-white at the top. Surrounding the building was a carefully cultivated terrace of stone and plantings, tall bushes of fragrant purple flowers and milkweed drawing clouds of butterflies to linger and flutter about. 

“Shall we?” He looked toward Thomas and Margareta who looked impressed as they joined them, though both quickly feigned the opposite. The interior of the inn, if one could use such a broad word for this place, was a large common room with four shallow pits in the center of the room, the floors of which were laid with soft rugs and welcoming furnishing groups for those who were waiting. There was a long desk behind which several smiling persons were handling people checking in, checking out, or simply with questions. At the back of the room was a large arch that seemed to be made of a pair of carved trees with spreading boughs curving over a door that lead to the famed hot spring baths of _Zum Königskrone_. 

Moving to the desk, Wilhelm gave a curt nod to the human male with the black topknot. “Von Friedrich.” The man flipped through a book and nodded with a bright smile at them all. 

“It is most pleasant to have you staying with us, My Lord. I will have your things taken up to your room immediately.” A clap of his hands and their luggage was plucked up by a group of dwarves and humans, all dressed in the same red uniform with brass buttons. “Fourth floor. A, C, and D.” The porters moved for the stairs and Wilhelm offered his arm, a polite nod when his wife laid her hand atop it and allowed him to guide her. As they ascended, he spoke of the inn’s beautiful rooms, the pleasures of the hot spring baths and talented men and women who were experts in massage. The views were not the most beauteous during the day, but at night when the city was illuminated it was as if the stars had fallen to pool around them. The nearby restaurants, theaters, shopping district, art galleries, even an aquarium with all manner of sea life on view. 

Their rooms were sumptuous, each divided into mirror images of bed, wardrobe, desk, and chair. The Ladies were put into one, the husbands into another, and Matthias and Caspar, who had joined them at the gate, would occupy the third. The porters left their things in the proper rooms and were each tipped very well. Before they left, they made a point to show the common garderobe which had a running stream of water that sluiced down pipes on the outside of the building into the sewer system. No lingering traces down the stonework. It was an idea Wilhelm contemplated stealing for improving the castle. 

“Well, I say we settle into our rooms, then in an hour, meet in the lobby to have a late luncheon before we part ways?”

“Part ways, My Lord?” Renata asked and he smiled faintly, gesturing to Caspar who stepped up and opened a leather portfolio of sorts. 

“This afternoon, as Matthias and I have a personal call to make, and your husbands will be occupied with business matters, I have made arrangements for you to visit the Exhibition. It is at the Grotto, an outdoor amphitheater. There will be small intimate stages of musicians, artists showing off their sculptures or paintings, theatrics, shows of dancing or poetry… all manner of diversions ending in a collaboration when the sun sets. The artists of all leanings each putting their talents into a single production. A show of music and laughter and song and beautiful costumes and perhaps...” he gave a wag of his brows between the ladies. “A bit of magic.” 

“Do not worry, Herr Geier.” Wilhelm chuckled as he walked toward their room. “I have made ample assurance that the ladies will be well-guarded and kept safe at all times.” 

“Yeah.” Thomas frowned a bit, his jaw tense. “Sounds boring. You can go if you want to keep your sister company though.” Turning on his heel to follow Wilhelm. 

“Thank you, Thomas…” Margareta said toward the closing door, cut off before she finished. “I suppose it’s better than sitting around here all day. “ She gave a mild huff and turned toward their room. “I am just glad to be out of that stifling carriage!” 

Renata glanced up at Caspar. “Thank you for making the arrangements. I look forward to it.”

“Happy to be of service, My Lady.” He bowed and stepped back, moving down the hall toward his and Matthias’ room. 

Their luncheon was at a place called **_A Tine to Dine_**. The table had a small cauldron of heated oil and plates of meats and breaded cheeses and vegetables that you dipped into the oil with long two-pronged forks until they were cooked. It was as much a show as it was a meal and everyone seemed to have a pleasant time. When they had finished, they separated to their own pursuits for the afternoon and evening. 

Wilhelm took the lead, Thomas in tow. He showed him the length and breadth of the city, venturing high up on the mountain to look down at the sprawling city, pointing out various sights worth noting, then to the interior of the mountain itself where the mines were dark and the air stale. They visited shops and showrooms, warehouses and forges, artisans and farmers. Whether Dwarf or humans, half-orc or half-elf, each of Wilhelm’s contacts throughout the city were given the chance to speak to Thomas. Little more was needed. The man was, without a doubt, his own worst enemy. Every word out of his mouth was a study in how to be a clueless oaf.

He did not hear the subtleties of introduction. How he was never called ‘brother-in-law’ but ‘my wife’s sister’s husband’ with a slight note of disappointment. Looks that Thomas ignored carried whole conversations in a quirk of brow, curl of lip, or roll of eyes. By the evening when the loud whistles blew to call the day shift’s ending, he had effectively signed a death warrant to any possible inroads to business in Druvenlode. 

Returning to the Beneficiation District, Wilhelm inquired whether Thomas was hungry. At a vociferous answer in the affirmative, he took him to **_Arat’aes_**. It was the finest Elvish cuisine in all of Druvenlode. Each patron was the very picture of posh elegance. There was more cutlery surrounding Thomas’s plate than Wilhelm wagered the man owned himself. Everything seemed too dainty for his hands and it was like watching a bear trying to peel a boiled egg. Seven courses over two hours and he probably had less in his belly than he’d had in two bites at last night’s dinner. Of course, Wilhelm made a face of utter satiation and patted his stomach, swearing he could not take another bite without splitting something. 

“So…” Glowering as they exited the restaurant, Thomas looked around. “Where does a fellow go for … entertainment in this town?”

“Oh, well that would depend on what sort of entertainment you were after.” 

“You know.” he gave a slimy sort of leer. “A little fun.” 

“Ah.” Wilhelm nodded faintly. “That would be the Street of Lanterns. It is a bit of a walk, but there are transports if you wish to … ahem… save your energy. “ A motioning toward one of several small single-passenger carriages pulled by people. 

“Street of Lanterns huh?” 

“Yes. As you are married to Lady Margareta, I assume you are a red lantern.” A slight chuckle at his look of confusion. “Come.” He motioned him to follow him into the inn where he stopped at the front desk. “Have you a color sheet?” The man with the dark topknot had been replaced by a slender elvish woman who gave him a knowing smile and withdrew a slip of heavy paper from under the desk and slid it toward him, face down. “My thanks.” 

Handing it to Thomas, he watched as the man looked it over. He frowned and nodded. “I’ll figure it out.” Folding it and shoving it into a pouch then turned and walked out, grumbling. No doubt to find something to eat before venturing into the district of harlotry. At least he’d have some privacy in his room. He chuckled and turned back to the pale elf. “I would like to procure another room if you please.”

**\- - - - - - - - - - - - -**

The afternoon had been amazing. The Grotto was, as promised, thick with all manner of entertainment. There were musicians with lutes and shawms, drums and flutes, poets spilling words of romance or dire sorrow, songs of mourning and praise and even bawdy innuendo that drove the ladies to blush though it was those tunes that seemed to stick most in her own mind. They spent a good half hour seated on a bench watching a motley troupe each equally comedian, singer, and actor. They would take suggestions from the audience and with a handful of ridiculous words, they built scenes and songs that had her snickering behind her hand until her ribs ached. Even Margareta was laughing aloud before the end. The darkness that had weighed on her of late seemed to fade as the day went on and with that cloud blown away from her countenance, she was her best self again.

A half-elven musician with deft fingers wove music and wooed with his dark eyes as she paused before him, demure and shy-seeming as she dropped a few copper into his basket before strolling away with a glance back across her shoulder that invited trouble. He was not the only one. By the time it was growing dark, she had honed the blade of her flirtation against the rough stone of a dozen different men. Renata did not chastise her. It was like a game and she had no true intention to take any of them home. It was like shopping without any coin. 

As they were moving toward the amphitheater, she spied Caspar and Matthias who was escorting a young woman. She waved and they lifted a hand in return of the greeting as they moved to walk beside them. 

“Lady Wilhelm von Friedrich, Lady Greier, may I introduce Fraulein Anna Springer, the ward of _Ritter_ Harald Schönbaum of Odessloe.” 

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” The young lady gave a curtsy and then rose. She seemed to be just out of her girlhood, perhaps sixteen or seventeen, poised at that place when the girl was fading but the woman had not yet fully blossomed. She was a bit too angular and ill-fitting in her skin at the moment and Renata noticed her constant looks of concern toward Margareta, sensing perhaps she was the more dangerous one. 

Together, they made their way into the space, Caspar leading them toward a small space near the top where a private box of sorts was waiting. Taking their seats, they watched and chatted as the amphitheater filled up. Once the sky was dark enough that stars began to appear, a loud brassy sound of many horns filled the air, a triumphant sort of rolling theme that drew the crowd to quiet as bright light appeared over the stage, illuminating a figure in deep blue robes whose voice cut loudly enough that even the back row heard clearly. A tale spun of a band of heroes of old, seeking out a terrible lich lord who had raised a slain dragon to destroy and maim all in its path. 

As the tale reached the climax, a shimmering illusion of a dragon, as much bone as flesh, crawling out of the ground, roaring, drew several people to scream and almost crawl backward on the first few rows. Occasionally, there would be a flicker, as if to allow the illusion to have flaws enough that it was clearly not real. Otherwise, there would probably have been an all-out panic. The fight was daring, the undead dragon was slain, the lich lord’s phylactery shattered but at the cost of the plucky and funny halfling rogue’s life. Tears sprang to many eyes, including Renata’s, as the group said their goodbyes and the narrator tied up each story. The romantic couple wed with many happy children, the unwanted and shunned half-elf finding a place where he was not only accepted but adored as a hero. The broken cleric made whole by the love of his adopted family and the rediscovery of his faith. 

When the tale ended, the applause was wild and the stage filled with actors, musicians, the magic-wielders who had created the effects, the seamstresses who made the costumes, no one overlooked as praise was shared. The guests thanked for their patronage and a reminder given to donate if able. She was all too happy to add twenty gold to the iron box nearest their exit as they made their way out. 

Caspar directed them down the road to a place he knew where they all spent another hour chatting about the play, what they liked and what they had thought might be improved as they dined on a late dinner of a soft bread stuffed with roasted meat and vegetables then drizzled with a rich cream-based sauce with a spicy afterglow that made her lips tingle. When they had eaten, it was back to _Zum Königskrone_ where Renata and Margareta bid goodnight to Fraulein Anna and the gentlemen. Caspar and Matthias pulling away to take the young lady back to her home once the Ladies were safely inside the inn. 

Margareta complained over every stair, fairly dragging by the time they reached the highest floor and their room. Having no maid, Renata helped her sister undress and get ready for bed. Soothed by a warm toddy more whisky than anything else, Margareta was nearly instantly asleep. Renata did not so easily go down. She had not yet unwound from her evening, so remained awake a while longer, the light too low to read, but she did not want to disturb her sister’s slumber by lighting more than the single stubby votive. 

At near 11 by the clock, a knock came to the door and she rose, moving toward it on tiptoe. Pulling the door open just a crack, expecting to find her husband, or perhaps one of the other gentlemen, she was surprised to see a gruff-looking dwarf in a red coat, a tray in hand. “S’Lady Wilhelm?” 

“Yes, I am she.” said quietly so not to wake Margareta. 

“Fer you then.” he held up the tray, on which a large bulky envelope was laid. She took it and nodded and he blinked up at her, tray still elevated. 

“Oh.. of course.” She moved to collect her purse and placed two silvers onto the tray, tipped swiftly and the coins caught before they could hit the ground, the dwarf gave a tap of his brimless cap and walked off toward the stairs. 

Closing the door, she turned, taking up the candle and moving to the small desk. She broke the seal, a simple blob of wax and carefully upended the envelope. Two smaller envelopes slid out onto the table, one black and glossy paper sealed in red, and one a buff-colored heavy paper sealed with gold-flecked wax that glinted in the candlelight. In addition, there was a folded letter. She opened the loose letter and began to read.

_Your husband sleeps. You promised to meet me. Should you be brave  
enough to keep your word, I will reward that with a gift. The gift of choice._

_The black parcel will tell you where your Lord awaits you. You know_  
_what will become of you if your Lord finds you in his reach. The gold parcel_  
_is from Wil. He will quite happily spend his night worshiping his Goddess._  
_Choose your fate. Open the parcel of but one, however. The unopened one_  
_must be gifted to your chosen._

_You have until midnight to decide. Are you a woman of your word?_

_Awaiting you with desperation,  
Your Lover_

She had to stem a nervous giggle as she re-read the letter. She had nearly forgotten. Or, perhaps thought that he did. As she understood it, she could open only one of the other envelopes. The other one had to be handed over unopened when she met... whichever version of Wilhelm she wished to encounter. Both envelopes felt heavy but dissimilar. It was easy to surmise that there were details in each that would influence where she was to meet him. She set the candle between them, eyes moving back and forth, the clock striking eleven quietly in the city, and she shivered, reaching out, her decision made.


	32. Chapter 32

He prowled like a caged beast in a traveling zoo, dangerous, anxious, ravenous and aware that his cage was weak and failing. Time would come, very soon, that he would shatter that cage and he would be free. The day had been long. It had begun unpleasantly, and though it had ended well, he had been forced to a restraint that was, at the least, taxing. The last threads of that restraint were being snapped with every movement of the clock’s hands. Soon. 

Midnight had come and gone in the secret meeting place arranged for the envelope of gold. A half-hour later, he had adjourned to his bed. The morning had him waking alone. There was no sign that Thomas Greier had been in his bed. The sun was still only a glow behind the mountains, and he dressed and made his way to where Caspar and Matthias were sleeping. The former was awake, though the latter was snoring into a small damp place on his pillow. 

“It went well?” 

“Yes, My Lord. He was not thrilled to have to act as escort to the young lady, but he was a gentleman and though I doubt there were any sparks, he was genial and she enjoyed herself I believe. _Ritter_ Schönbaum will have no reason to be displeased.”

“Good.” he sighed softly, his mind still waking fully, taking stock. “What plans have we today?” 

“Well, I imagined the Ladies might enjoy a tour of the better shops around town. I made several visits yesterday myself. I spoke to the shopkeepers of many of the better milliners and seamstresses and cobblers and so forth. Set them to spread the word that Lady Wilhelm von Friedrich was visiting their shop, perhaps. If they see her, they are to put whatever she desires on your account and quote her a price half of what the reality is. They will, of course, send the bill with the proper amount to you, My Lord.” 

“Naturally.” He smirked, thinking that even half-off his wife would probably still think she was paying too much. “What of the sister?”

“No such account has been set up for her. She will have to pay full price I am afraid. Also, all purchases on account are to be sent to the castle, so by the time they are delivered…” A feigned pout of sympathy. “Margareta will be well on her way to Yrrosa again. When they arrive, you will know what is your wife’s and you may send back anything that is not as a mistake in shipping.” 

“You’re very clever. What prevents her from purchasing things outright? I cannot send her with no coin, after all.” 

“This will be accomplished by having her purse stolen.” He smiled. “I have contracted the twins.” 

Wilhelm frowned a bit. Ulrich and Ulf were the very definition of ‘bad boys’. The sixth and (by a minute and fourteen seconds) seventh sons of _Herzog_ Ägidius Hoelscher, they had been born into the nobility with all the perks of that except for any hope of inheritance. Instead, they became gentleman thieves, blackmailers, and societal assassins. They preferred not to take lives, only ruin them but had enough skill with blade and evasion that if it came to that, they could hold their own. “You hired the twins to steal my wife’s purse?”

“Well, in a way. They’re going to be her guards today. They are, as far as she will ever know, fellow gentlemen who are …” He chuckled. “Not inclined to the pursuit of ladies. They will then be the perfect guides to show the sisters about, know the best shops, the latest fashions…” he gave an airy wave. “And if Margareta begins to attempt to lure her sister into buying her things, your Lady will find her purse is mysteriously absent.” 

“I suppose it is a better plan than going myself.” he glanced toward his snoring brother. “Speaking of plans, I think it best I go tie up a few loose ends on my own. When he wakes, meet me downstairs.” Wilhelm excused himself and left the room quietly, making his way toward the staircase. Between the third and fourth floors, he nearly collided with the bulky wavering figure of Thomas, dragging himself up with a bilious tint to his face. 

“Ah, welcome back. You had a pleasant evening I hope.” Intentionally bright and a bit loud so to make the man wince and clap a hand over his head at the stab of pain. 

“Piss off.” he grumbled and brushed by, stomping upward. Wilhelm was about to continue down when he heard a woman’s voice from above. 

“Oh, Thomas. I was worried. Where were you? You look…” the voice cut off with a squeak and dull thump. 

Turning quickly, he moved up the stairs in time to see Greier, Margareta’s arms in his hands squeezed so tight they were red above them and ashen beneath. “Where I go and what I do is my business. Do you understand me?” his voice a low dangerous sound like a rabid dog in an alley corner. 

“Yes. Yes, I’m sorry, Thomas… I didn’t mean… I won’t do it again.” Her breathy whisper filled with the shiver of rising tears. 

“See that ya don’t.” he gave her a slight shove as he turned and walked into the room, shutting the door tightly. Margareta rubbed at her arms and quickly slinked back into the room she had exited and then it was nothing but a stone-still silence in the hall, broken only by the rushing of the blood in Wilhelm’s ears. 

He sprang up, skipping the last two stairs entirely and made for the door to the room he had so recently abandoned, but paused before his hand touched the latch. No. Acting rashly was only going to cause trouble. He diverted his path and returned to room 4D, opening the door without knocking. “Caspar. With me. Now.” he turned and again made his way down the stairs, knowing he would catch up.

At nine, baskets of baked goods and serving trays of hot coffee and teas were at the door of the ladies’ room, as well as a note asking them to meet in the lobby by ten, and to dress for walking comfort. To their credit, they appeared with fifteen minutes to spare. 

“You look lovely, My Lady.” Wilhelm lifted her hand, his eyes not leaving hers. He read easily that she had opened the black envelope and his smile curled toward the wicked for only a moment, but it was enough to drive pink to her cheeks. “As ever.” Stepping back, he glanced toward Margareta. “You seem well-rested, Lady Greier. I hope you enjoy shopping.” 

“Of course I do.” She said with a slightly aloof air. “What woman does not?”

“My wife, I suspect.” he gave her a glance. “But I will lay out every temptation before her and hope she succumbs.” He could not help it. She made him want to be wicked. “Ladies, may I introduce Ulf and Ulrich. They are going to act as your guides to the best shopping in Druvenlode.” 

The men bowed as one. Ulrich’s high ponytail swished against his shoulder while Ulf’s hair was braided at the nape of his neck. Both wore black boots and trousers, a white shirt beneath a tunic of blue. Ulrich’s a deep royal and Ulf’s a rich almost teal. “Ladies.” Purred simultaneously as they rose. 

“If there is a bargain in this city…” Ulf spoke. 

“We’ll run it to ground and snatch it up.” Ulrich finished. 

Both men held out an arm and with dubious looks to one another, Margareta and Renata laid their fingers on the arm of the nearer twin to them and off they went. Wilhelm stood, his arms crossed, watching them go as Caspar and Matthias moved up behind him. 

“Alright lads… that should buy us a few hours. There is much to do.” Wilhelm spoke firmly but quietly. “Do you know your parts?”

They answered in the affirmative and he drew a deep breath. “Then to work.” 

The day was warm, but breezy, keeping the pleasure of the last of summer’s embrace from being too cloying. It passed slowly for some, and quickly for others. It was late into the afternoon when Renata, Margareta, and the twins returned finally, laughter on their lips as they entered, arms laden with packages. 

“Welcome back.” Wilhelm rose from one of the chairs in the sunken conversation grouping, Caspar and Matthias doing the same. “I see it was a fruitful hunt.” 

“Oh.” Renata smiled toward him and gave a slight shrug as Margareta hurried up the stairs. “I fear it’s not all here, My Lord. I have arranged for some things to be delivered to the castle as well. Things too big to carry with me. I succumbed to temptation as you asked it seems.” 

‘Do not listen to her, My Lord.” Ulf chuckled. “Nearly everything she bought I know well is intended to either brighten your home or be given as a gift to someone. It was like pulling teeth to get her to buy anything for herself.” 

She gave Ulf a look as if betrayed but smiled a moment after. “I would have bought nothing at all for myself, My Lord, but that our guides introduced us to a shop selling...what did you call it, Sir?”

“Reclaimed freight.” Ulrich offered generously. 

“Yes. Things that have just fallen off of wagons in shipping, or were left behind in warehouses forgotten, just lovely things and so inexpensive! Haus of Hehler. That was the name.” She lifted the parcels in her hands. “I ought to go put these away.” She gave him a slightly worried look as she passed to ascend the staircase. 

“You took my wife… to your **_fence?!_** ” he spoke through his teeth and under his breath. 

“You said to bargain hunt, My Lord.” Ulf reasoned with a smile. 

“And I assure you the prices were a steal.” Ulrich grinned and gave his brother a wink. 

Ulf cocked his head and smirked. “Don’t worry. The goods were acquired far south of here. In Zadash as a matter of fact.” 

“You …” he drew a deep calming breath. “You sold my wife stolen merchandise from the Dominion?” 

“Of course. We never sell Truscan goods here. We have contacts that cross the border. It’s the way of trade, My Lord.” 

He sighed and drew his purse out, counting out the agreed-upon payment to each brother. “That is what I get for employing thieves.” 

“Your generosity, My Lord assures we shall ever be friends…” Ulf bowed. 

“..and that you will never be our business,” Ulrich said as his bow was undone, the coins gone before he finished rising. 

“A good afternoon to you, My Lord.” said with that strange echoing cadence of two all-but identical voices speaking at once as they turned and slipped off into the street beyond. 

Wilhelm smiled to himself, shaking his head. If his wife had enjoyed herself, he would not be upset with the how of it. The clock read nearly quarter to five and he had heavier things on his mind. A glance back at the others and he gave a nod. As one, the pair rose and they all mounted the stairs together, the tension palpable. 

Wilhelm threw open his door and walked inside. “Oh, Herr Greier! Are you still abed? The day is nigh gone.” He lit the lanterns and turned them up to fill the room with bright light. He was pleased when the man groaned and pulled the pillow over his head and tried to crawl down into the mattress. “None of that!” He swatted at the man’s leg as he moved to pour a glass of water and set it on the table nearby. “Up. Up! We have somewhere to be tonight.” 

“Wrsthad” he mumbled as he pulled his head out, blinking like a mole caught in the sunlight. He spied the water and pulled it closer, splashing it about, but taking a good few swallows as he worked to sit up. “Where is that?” He clarified his earlier words with the low groan of one who had drunk and done too much the night before. 

“I will tell you when you’ve woken, changed, and splashed a bit of cold water on your face, Sir. As it stands, you are a travesty. Come along! Time is wasting!” he barked with joy to see the wince it caused as he walked back out, leaving the door open. From Caspar’s room, he could hear him stumble into the hall a few minutes later and head into the bathing room, loudly going through his ablutions, then plod back to the room, shutting the door firmly. 

“I will meet you at the Red Sands, Caspar. Matthias, I am trusting you to keep an eye on everything here.” And he was gone, returning to the room to get Thomas ready for the events of the evening. 

It was six before the players were all in place. The ladies were to accompany Matthias to dinner. Unbeknownst to them, a few court ladies of the twins’ acquaintance would be there, making it a point to come by and welcome Renata to the proverbial neighborhood and extend invitations to visit them when in Rexxentrum. Wilhelm had, when this portion of the plan was made, expected for Thomas and himself to be there, but things had altered. 

“I wish I could go, Renata.” he said as he clasped his hands at his lower back, trying not to admire her new purchases, nor think about whatever Julosian noble had once owned the gown and the lovely necklace of silver and amethyst. “But this will give me the chance to introduce Thomas to very important people. People who trade not only in Druvenlode, but all over. His name will be on their lips.” He knew that while outwardly it sounded as if he were doing the man a favor, they both knew it was the exact opposite. 

“I understand, My Lord. It is just dinner. I will survive without your company for that long, I think.” Her teasing tone made him almost want to push the hands of the clock forward to midnight and claim her there and then. 

Matthias aided each lady into the carriage and when it had pulled away, Wilhelm looked between Caspar and Thomas. “Come lads. The night is ours.”

They stopped for dinner, something suitable this time to Thomas’ tastes. Heavy sausages with fried onions and peppers, boiled potatoes in rich sauce with spices, pretzels stuffed with pungent yellow cheese and a good portion of beer. That Wilhelm and Caspar ate moderately went, as much did, unnoticed by Thomas. He was a pig at the trough and did not pull away until his belly was quite filled.

“Ah, now…” Caspar clapped his hands together and rubbed them, a positively wicked smile flashed. “To the Bloomery. The Red Sands await.”

It was obvious that Thomas thought the Red Sands was a house of sin. He looked quite confused when they reached the Bloomery District. It was here where the iron was melted on a grand scale. It was a place of dark buildings and a heavy air of burning. There were no homes in the Bloomery. There were the immense furnaces of flame and molten iron and there was The Red Sands.

Located in the center of the ever-burning stench of iron ore and charcoal, The Red Sands was a fairly nondescript building of black stone with a roof of overlapping tiles. There were no windows, only vents at the top that poured out a thinner, weaker smoke into the air. Wilhelm flashed a heavy purse to get them in past the sharp-eyed halfling and the orc with the perpetual snarl who watched the door. 

“Welcome to the Red Sands, Herr Greier.” Wilhelm smiled as they entered. It was quite a different place within. The walls were covered in tilework, tiny mosaics in whites and bright colors to make it seem they were on some distant beach, blue skies and white sands, palm trees and golden sunshine. At the center of the building was a three-foot wall of lattice surrounding a sunken pit another six feet down. The floor of the pit was covered with the rust-hued sand for which the place was named. Surrounding the wall were small high tables and barstools. The crowd was already building, a mix of every sort of person mingling. 

“I’ll get us something to drink,” Caspar spoke up over the low constant thrum of conversation around them. “Get us a good seat.” He nudged Wilhelm and then slithered through the crowd like a snake through blades of grass.

“Come along!” Wilhelm motioned for Thomas to follow and found a table on a bit of elevated space, one of five that sat equidistant around the circle. Caspar arrived with a bottle of wine and a pitcher of ale just as a quartet of men and women, wearing nothing but the faintest scraps of cloth and a generous amount of body paint walked into the pit from a door in the wall that surrounded it. The crowd shifted, quieted, and long silk banners fell from the ceiling. 

“Ah, just in time.” Wilhelm poured a large tankard for Thomas before his own wine. 

The four in the sands each took one of the long banners, running in a circle, the silks now lifting from the ground. As they were lifted, they swirled past the lanterns. As they did, they began to change color. Swirling from red to purple to blue to green, then faster, each becoming a pulsing bright beacon of rainbow light as the acrobats wound themselves tighter up into the silks, dipping, swaying, swinging, higher and higher. They all, as one, fell. Tumbling as the silks unwound, and just before they hit the sands the lights went out, a gasp rushing through the room until the lights popped back on to reveal the quartet safe and sound.

The crowd applauded and threw coins into the sand as they bowed and waved in gratitude, Wilhelm and Caspar flicking several coins each into the pit. A phalanx of children raced into the sands and gathered the coins in baskets before running out the door through which the entertainment had entered.

Next, a trio of men walked out. Marquesian in dress, their instruments in hand, they spread a carpet and occupied it, drum and shawm and violin playing a sensual sort of music that made one think of spices and heat. A woman in a skirt of silken scarves hung from a belt of fake brass coins riding low on her hips, the same coins jangling from the minimal covering of her prodigious bust as she danced and undulated, a feline grace, her dark skin oiled and glimmering as the lanterns slid slowly to a more ruddy hue, a temptress whose kohl-traced eyes sought out each man at the wall as if to convey her dance was for them alone. Needless to say, when the crescendo hit and she fell to her knees, arms folded over her chest, her back flexing with each swift breath, Thomas was the first to throw a handful of coppers from his own purse toward her.

A gong rang out and the mood shifted in an instant. People pressed closer to the walls and a palpable feeling of tension shot through the air. The lights rose to illuminate the sands and leave much of the rest of the building in darkness. Only what light was needed to work the bars and a single tiny green lamp over each egress.

“Damen und Herren...” A man stepped up onto another of the elevated platforms and raised his hands. He was a well-built man who carried himself with an air of a man who had lived by his fists his whole life. “Welcome to The Red Sands. Druvenlode’s premiere place of entertainment. As you well know, tonight is a special night, our yearly Contest of Champions!” he bellowed, throwing his arms out, the crowd erupting in wild cheers.

“What’s the Contest of Champions?” Thomas whispered.

“Shhh.” Wilhelm pointed as the man continued. 

“For those of you new to The Red Sands, I will explain how tonight will work. We have procured fine fighters of varied skill and strength. Beat a green level, you pay one gold, to challenge but could win ten. Pay five to challenge a yellow, and you could walk away with fifty gold. Challenge our red champion?” He paused for effect. “Pay ten gold, and you could win ten platinum.” The crowd ‘oohed’ and Thomas sat forward a bit. “In addition, should any of you think you’re man enough to conquer our red champion and succeed, well… everyone in Druvenlode knows that the Red Champion is denied nothing. Food. Drink. Women.” he chuckled as the crowd’s murmurs grew. “The whole of Druvenlode is his.” 

The room was abuzz with tension as the first fighter was announced. A burly human with no hair anywhere, not even eyebrows stepped out of the door in the sands and walked to the center. His hands and wrists wrapped in deep green cloth. Almost instantly a man swung over the side and dropped down with a little poof of sand, holding up a single gold piece. The cheers rose again as the man began to strip off his shirt and shoes, preparing to fight.

“I’ll lay a gold on the green.” Wilhelm lifted the coin.

“No way.” Caspar laughed softly. “Look whoever the green is is obviously not very experienced, look at the board.” He motioned to a chalkboard at the far side of the arena being set up. 

“Ah, I will stick with my choice.” Glancing to Thomas. “What do you think?” Motioning to the board.

Thomas blinked at it and then nodded rapidly. “I’m with your friend. Challenger will win. Odds are better.”

Caspar and Wilhelm shared a look, a mutual suspicion confirmed. Thomas couldn’t read.

The fights progressed, the challenger losing the first fight, but the second was a swift upset. The first of the yellow fighters stepped into the ring, and it was a much more ferocious fight. The room was fairly vibrating with tension as the combatants threw punches and kicks and, in the end, another challenger accepted his prize. The second yellow stepped into the ring and it took a bit of encouragement before someone moved to meet him. The gong rang and with a bellow, the fighters ran at one another and met with fists and knees and blood spattered across the sand. 

Thomas had been at the wall, shouting encouragement to whoever he was backing since the second fight. He’d already won ten gold from wagers at his table alone. His eyes were wild and his fists swung faintly as he grunted under his breath with every air punch. 

“You should have challenged, Herr Greier.” Wilhelm offered as he joined him at the wall. 

“Maybe I will.” He sniffed. “I could take these guys easy.” 

“Perhaps, but the only fight left is the Red.” said with disappointment, making it obvious that he did not believe that Thomas could beat the final challenger.

“Oh, Herr Greier, My Lord is right. I mean, of course, if you were to challenge the red and win? Well, that would be the act of a truly brave man. Everyone who saw would say ‘that man is the best. The strongest. The bravest’.” He nudged Wilhelm. “We could never do that though. We shall just have to be satisfied with being the best looking.”

“Ah, I have not the backbone for such brutality.” He set a dabbing hand to his brow. “Not that I couldn’t use ten platinum. My wife went shopping today and I shudder to imagine the bills I will receive.”

“Oh, Wil, you have to make sure your wife is the best dressed, has the finest clothes, jewels, so forth, right? There is no power better than walking into a room with a beautiful woman on your arm. Every man wants to be you, every woman wants to be her…” He poured another cup of wine. “Not to mention that a pretty new dress or a nice necklace is excellent to distract her from how much you’re spending on the Street of Lanterns.” Winking as he took a long sip, both watching Thomas to see he had heard and was turning his dull mind on what had been said. 

The crowd oohed as the yellow fighter took out his competitor’s legs and fell upon him with a flurry of fists to the chest and abdomen that knocked the breath from him, leaving him sprawled and moaning on the sands as he hopped up and brought his foot down, knocking the man out instantly.

“Our winner, Woldemar Hattenberger!” He stalked around the arena, people flicking in coins as they had for the dancers, particularly entertained, it seemed with this fight.

“Ah, well that is that.” Wilhelm sighed. “They will have a very difficult time getting someone to step up now.” 

“None of these fools are up to the task, the fight will be over far too quick. We may as well go home now.” 

“Damen un Herren… The contest you have waited all night for. I offer to you, the final fighter of the night… Durzal!” A small scrawny man stepped out, red bandages in his hands.

“Oh, look at that… reminds me of … oh, what’s his name.” 

“Half & Half.” Wilhelm laughed. “He had an elven father and a halfling mother. Couldn’t have been five feet tall. Challenged this huge bruiser of a human, six five, three hundred pounds… just.. Massive. Went at him like a monkey on suude.” Chuckling. “Big guy didn’t know how to handle fighting people smaller than him and he wound up face down in the sand.” 

“Yes, some lucky bastard is going to jump in and win ten platinum in less than a minute. I’d go but…” Caspar brushed his fingers up the side of his face. “These cheekbones are far too valuable.”

“Oh, it’s on!” Thomas downed his beer and grabbed up the coins from the table. Throwing them into the ring before him, he swung over the rail to land in the sand to a gasp of shock and a low ‘ooooh’ sound.

“Oh no, don’t,” Wilhelm muttered softly with the mockery of concern.

“Ah, you will be killed…” Caspar murmured equally sarcastically.

Thomas didn’t hear. All he seemed to see was the scrawny little man with the red wraps in his hand.

“Ah, a challenger so quickly! What is your name so we know what to put on your epitaph?!” A roar of laughter from the crowd and the man.

“Thomas Greier of Yrrosa.” He stripped his boots and shirt off, flexing his arms and cocking his head back and forth to stretch his neck.

“Thomas Greier!” The announcer shouted and the crowd cheered, causing Thomas to preen and flex more. “Is he ready?” The announcer spoke to the slender and wan fellow.”

“Takin’ a piss, Sir. But he should be done any… oh, here he comes.” The door suddenly gave birth to a near seven and a half foot creature with greyish skin and a single braid of hair down the center of his skull. He thrust his hands out, and the other man began to wrap his bulky fists in the crimson cloth.

“What the …” Thomas looked back in shock. It was obvious he was confused.

“Says right there on the sign, Herr Greier… Durzal the Goliath.” Wilhelm pointed at the sign.

“Well, three-quarters. His mother was only half goliath.” Caspar corrected.

“Well then that’s just misrepresentation!” Wilhelm leaned on the wall, looking down at Thomas with deep indignance on his behalf. “You think you’re going to get to tackle a goliath only to find there’s a puny-ass human in the mix? Patently unfair.”

“No, his grandfather was an orc actually.” Caspar chimed in as he took a lean on the low wall beside his friend.

“Ah, well that’s fine then. I was worried you wouldn’t be challenged. Good luck, Herr Greier.” The gong rang again, and the true entertainment began.

Durzal made the fight last. He let Thomas get hits in, feigned greater pain than was possible he felt, threw himself whenever shoved so it made Thomas seem more powerful.

“There is no way the actors at the theater are equal to this performance.” Caspar chuckled.

Wilhelm laughed softly. “I agree, though I don’t know whether this is a comedy or a tragedy.”

The minutes ticked by and then when Wilhelm caught his eye and gave him the nod, Durzal switched from theatrical bard to barbarian fighter. Now it was a show of punishment. He held back still, but only because he wanted his opponent to hurt.

Thomas screamed as his fist was intercepted, smacking into Durzal’s palm as his fingers closed and the crunch of bones breaking was heard even over the crowd’s reaction. He stumbled back and hugged his broken hand to his chest, backing away, his other hand waving in a plea for mercy before the large boot lifted and kicked him square in the chest, sending him flying backwards a good five feet to bounce into the wall and tumble unconscious into the sand.

“Well done!” Wilhelm cheered and threw a handful of gold toward Durzal, glancing down at the sprawled figure of Thomas. “Someone wake that ass up.” He made his way around to the side door to wait.

The Red Sands would not do well if they didn’t employ healers and potion-makers to assure even those who lost were sent home with at least their major injuries dealt with. Thomas still looked a fright, both eyes were blackened and swollen, his hand still didn’t want to work right, he had a catch in his breathing and was purpled all over, but he was alive and walking as they made their way from the Red Sands toward the edge of the district and cleaner air.

“I am so sorry you did not win, Herr Greier.” Wilhelm was nothing if not sympathetic. “You put on a fine show though. Everyone was certainly entertained.”

“Yes, and few lost any coin so they were doubly so.” The implication that no one had bet on Thomas was blatantly made as Caspar laughed under his breath. 

He looked over toward Wilhelm. “I may be a little bruised, but if you tell anyone what happened I won’t hesitate to show you how I handle myself up close and personal.” His piggish eyes flicking to Caspar. “And your friend too.” 

“Ah.” Wilhelm sighed sharply and shook his head. “I have no intention of hiding the fact that you had your ass handed to you like a sweet bun on a tray. If you had chosen to threaten me, that I could live with. I would brush it away with all the effort I would brush away a buzzing gnat.” He turned and faced him, stopped in the middle of the street. “You chose, however, to threaten my friend. I am very devoted to my friends, Herr Greier.” A beefy hand slammed onto the man’s shoulder from behind and squeezed, sending Thomas to his knees in Durzal’s grip. “And they are devoted to me.”

“You don’t know who you’re messing with. I have powerful friends.” 

“I would be a bit more worried about _my_ friends at the moment, Herr Greier.” 

The fingers of unrelenting strength closed tighter until something popped under the skin, a wet sort of snap sound. Thomas swore and whimpered, all his bravado drained like the dark stain spreading down his trousers. “Please… I’m sorry. I take it back.”

“Ah, but some things cannot be taken back.” Wilhelm gave a flick of his hand upward and Thomas was jerked to his feet. “I have, as you know, sent men and women to Yrrosa to aid in the city’s defense. I will be sending more, and I will have each of them watching you. Listening for news. If I hear you have even raised your voice in anger to your wife…” Another flick of his hand and the grip left his shoulder only long enough to wrap fingers of thick muscle and bone around his head, palming his skull like a child might a ball. “And I will send Durzal to crush your head…” the pressure grew, pain that wrenched a low, mournful cry from Thomas’s lips and tears from his eyes. “...like a melon.”

“Like melon.” Durzal growled from behind him in a guttural voice. “Squish.” Another second of that pulverising grip and then it was gone, a shove sending Thomas to sprawl in the street, sobbing as he curled up in the fetal position.

“I believe we are clear. Do not mistake my generosity for mercy. You live because I am told your wife adores you. Her love is all that is keeping you alive. Lose it...well, she will make a lovely widow, do you not agree, Caspar?”

“Oh indeed, My Lord.”

“Durzal, take him to the Crucible. Kommissar Rühl is awaiting him. A night in the cells will calm you down, Herr Greier. Drunken fighting in the street is illegal in Druvenlode you know.” A flick of his hand and Durzal grabbed Thomas up and drug him, whimpering, down the road to spend the remainder of his night in jail. He would, of course, ensure that Lady Greier had enough to bail him out come morning when, if he knew what was good for him, he would fall to his knees and kiss her hem, begging her forgiveness. Not that he was holding his breath.

"I find myself torn."

"How so, My Lord?" Caspar fell into step beside him as they began to make their way back toward the inn.

"There is a part of me that wants him to play the role of the dedicated and loving husband so long and so well that he forgets it's not the truth..."

"But you also hope he slips up so you can end him and not have to worry about it anymore." Caspar finished for him. "It is still possible. There are all kinds of brigands on the road."

"No. I do not like the woman, but I have given him a chance to be the man that can make her content. If he chooses to throw that chance away, then... well, he knows what will happen." Not pleased that it had come to that, but he would not back down from making his threat a reality if he had to. "All we can do is wait and see." 

“True enough, My Lord.” Caspar walked with him back to the inn, and thus began the long two hours between his arrival and the stroke of twelve. Two hours to simmer in his unspent tension. He imagined beating Thomas himself, of battering him until every bone cracked and he was a pudding with a vaguely human shape. He had never hated a man as much as he despised the low and crass bastard his wife’s sister was plagued with. He was a coiled ball of fury with no target. He heard footsteps, pressing himself back into the washroom, watching through a crack in the door as a cloaked figure appeared as she’d promised. 

He smiled to himself. All day, all night, had been an exercise in restraint. Holding back his hatred and playing the kind and generous man while every part of him screamed for blood. Now he could unleash his coiled tensions in a pleasurable submission to his darker side. 

Cue the villain.


	33. Chapter 33

With trembling fingers, she plucked up the black envelope. She felt a pang of guilt. It had been ‘Wil’ she promised to meet after all, but the pleasurable thought of being with the wild storm that was her Lord was an incubus whisper in her ear. A temptation to a mote of wickedness that had laid dormant until his arrival in her life. The wax seal broken, and she drew a slow, deep breath to calm her rapid heartbeat as she unfolded the heavy paper. 

Instantly, her fingers were coated in fine shimmering ebony dust. It clung to her skin, her clothing, all attempt to wipe it away were only successful in spreading it. It made her skin glimmer in the candlelight. A suspicious eye cast to the other envelope and she guessed it too would have something within of equal potency. A sure way to tell if she had given in to curiosity and broken the rule she supposed. A sigh and she rose, fetching a damp cloth which she used to clean up her hands and dress, removing most, but not all of the motes of darkness. Within the envelope was a second, sealed with some manner of glue so whatever was inside would not be covered by the bits of shiny black. On the outside, a note was written.

_Go to bed. Rest tonight. You will need it. One day more I grant you._  
_One more sunrise to contemplate that you have chosen this path._  
_When that day is done, and the night consumes itself, open this and come to me._  
_If the clock strikes twelve and you are not in my possesion,_  
_I will come for you and there will be repercussions._

She shivered, secreting the inner envelope away before she very quietly cleared away any traces of the mess and, as the clock struck midnight, marking twenty-four hours before she had to surrender herself, she curled into bed, weariness pulling her from consciousness to feverish dreams.

She woke to muffins and sweet rolls, coffee and tea, to her sister’s quiet strangeness, already dressed by the time she woke. A bit of breakfast and Renata coaxed Margareta to her usual self as she did her hair and discussed what might be planned for them today. The twins were unexpected, but shopping had always pleased Margareta, so she’d indulge her. Seeing her husband there, she could almost feel a draw, an unspoken promise that set her skin to prickling. 

The shopping was actually pleasant. Ulf and Ulrich were excellent shopping partners. They stopped often for cool drinks or just people watching, they chatted on all manner of subjects without the usual seeming pressures between men and ladies. The shop owners fawned over her when they found out who she was, and she was sore tempted a thousand times to buy something just because it was beautiful. Her sister was mopey so she slipped her a few gold to give her at least a bit to shop with. Thankfully so as her purse wound up being stolen not long after and she wouldn’t have been able to help her at all.

She was standing at the door, enjoying the shade and the mid-day breeze, a fan of silk, one of her earliest selfish purchases, flickering just beneath her chin as she listened faintly to Margareta bickering with the woman doing alterations on the gown she had finally decided on. A young boy came jogging into view, looking around then darting her way the instant she was spied. “Lady Wilhelm von Friedrich?” 

“Yes?”

“I have a message for you.” He held it out and ran off before she could even seek a coin to reward him. 

She opened it and bit her lip. 

_New nightdress. Nothing else. Hair unbound. You have less than twelve hours._

She folded it back up and tucked it away, the fan now working double time. 

They had luncheon at a small spot with delicate sandwiches and salads served in a section of the park where they could watch the duck pond from delicate wrought iron tables and chairs beneath pastel umbrellas. 

The twins dropped hints at the next few stores of a place that was something of a mystery. A secret known only to those who didn’t follow the Rexen-trends. Trailblazers, not sheep. Well, who wanted to think of themselves as sheep, so Margareta was all too excited to go, so to Haus of Hehler they went. It was nothing like the other shops. It was almost a warehouse. There was everything from fine furnishings to jewelry, gowns, shoes… all manner of things. The prices were so low, Ulrich told them because these items were lost merchandise. Shipments that had gone awry or been lost and replaced before the originals were found and rendered unnecessary. Left behind when a business closed, or were auction goods snapped up for a steal to be resold. It was here she spent a good portion of her money. 

She bought a pair of gardening gloves, a nice dress that would suit Lucinda, who had more than earned a reward. A set of woven wicker tables for her sitting room, some fine bedclothes, and draperies to replace the hideous flowers in the guest room when Margareta had returned home, as well as a gift for her husband. In a trunk, she found a gown of white silk and lace. It was cut low across the bosom and the long sleeves were unlined so they were all but transparent. It would reach only her shins but she bought it anyway. The awareness of that purchase’s presence in the parcels had her knees slightly wobbly for the whole of the walk back to the inn. Seeing Wilhelm there had only made it worse. That she was able to speak civilly and not fall to babbling was a miracle. His eyes betrayed the restraint he was holding to as well, and the tension between them was too much to bear, so she fled, following her sister upstairs. 

Margareta was putting her things into her trunk when she arrived at the room a few minutes behind her. She seemed pensive. 

“Is everything alright, Margareta?” 

“I should not have lied.” she sighed softly. “I could have been you.” 

“Whyever would you want to be me?” Chuckling softly. “When you can be you?”

“If I had not lied to you, you would still be in Yrrosa and I would be the Lady of Ravenswood. I would not have to beg my sister for coin like an urchin in the street.” She spat the word like a curse. 

“Oh, do not be silly.” She moved over to sit by her. “I was happy to give it. It is not your fault that Thomas took ill and was sleeping. Were he awake I am sure your purse would have been more than ample. Do you not say always that he is determined to spoil you?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “He loves me. He does.” She dampened her lips. 

“Of course he does. Who couldn’t?” She gave her a pat on her arm. “We’re supposed to go to dinner tonight, so let’s show our husbands just how lucky they are, hmm?” 

“I… I suppose you’re right.” She brightened a bit as she began to prepare to dress in the fine gown she’d bought for the occasion. 

It was doomed to disappointment though, as their husbands were being pulled away to some kind of business thing and it was just them and Matthias leaving to dine. “Well, we can enjoy flirting with all the waiters.” She teased softly before Matthias could get into the carriage. 

Her sister smiled a bit, and they pulled away. Dinner was frankly a bit embarrassing. Ladies from Rexxentrum would drift over and Matthias would introduce them. At first she had thought to do as she ever did. Introduce Margareta and vanish into the background. Not possible. They all seemed determined to suss out the new Lady of Ravenswood, paying little to no heed to Margareta. Each time one of the ladies would depart, having offered some manner of invitation to join them for tea or at this ball or that one, she would apologize for their rudeness, but it did little good. Margareta stalked upstairs the moment they returned and would not speak to her, only drink glass after glass of wine and glower until she fell asleep, still frowning, still clutching the near-empty bottle. 

The hours crept by at the pace of a slug along a garden wall. At 11, she began to prepare. She washed and pulled the gown on, feeling it cling to every damp part of her skin, showing less than her usual thin linen chemise might, but somehow the addition of lace and the more snug hold to her frame made it seem far more sinful even if more opaque. She brushed out her hair, recalling the way his hands had felt as he had done the brushing not that long past. Another pang of regret that she had not chosen the gold envelope, for it had been nice to feel pampered and adored. She could not lie though. Something made her veer toward the darker option, and now she had no choice but to see it through. She retrieved the envelope from under her clothes in her chest and quietly tore it open, tipping out the contents. 

A key, and a slip of paper.

**You must look in order __ __**

She checked, but there was nothing more in the envelope. Sitting back, she turned the key over and over in her hand. It was heavy and iron, the bit and shaft smooth and unremarkable, but the bow was unique and familiar. She traced the crown shape for only a moment more before she realized it was identical to her own room key. She attempted to match them, finding they were the same except for the bit. So, it was a key to a room in the inn, but not hers. His room? She doubted it, he was sharing it with Thomas. She glanced at the paper and gave a soft huff of annoyance at her own stupidity. The riddle answered she rose. The key and gold envelope were laid on the bed, every other trace of correspondence, even the note she’d gotten at lunchtime, were burned in the bathing room. Pulling her cloak tighter around herself, she collected the key and hurried down to room 2-C.

The key in hand, she pressed it to the lock but the door slid open at the pressure and a slip of paper fluttered down. Plucking it up,she ducked inside and closed the door behind her. The room was quite different from hers. Smaller, it had only one bed, no desk, and no chair or wardrobe. It had a heavy-footed trunk at the end of the bed, and a table at the side of the head. The lights were odd and she noticed that all the lamps had been covered by cloth shades of deep red, lending the room a very lurid sort of pinkness. She looked at the paper. 

_Sit at the foot of the bed and wait._

She bit her lip but, with trembling hands, she removed her cloak and hung it on a hook behind the door, then moved to sit as directed, perched on the trunk, her hands in her lap. The minutes slid by, her nerves being drawn tighter and tighter as she pinned her eyes to the door. 

The scratch of the key in the lock and the door swung open. He stepped inside and closed it behind him. “Good evening.” He was dressed as he had been when he had gone to his business meeting, but his doublet had been undone, his shirt collar likewise open. “Do not speak until I say you may. Nod if you understand.” 

She closed her mouth and nodded once. 

“Excellent.” His tone was even and edged in iron. “Do you know where you are?”

She nodded, then, after a moment, shook her head. 

“I know there is no gilded furniture or flowery pillows but… surely you’re not that unaware.” 

She blinked and he smiled despite himself when she made the connection. He had made the best approximation of a whorehouse in a single room. “I do not usually spend the sort of coin I have spent to find you.” He locked the door and then slid the key into his doublet pocket. “Custom orders do not come cheap, but …” he shrugged as he took a step forward. “I have been haunted of late. Stand up. Let me see you better.” 

He could see her unease. Tell that she was nervous, but she stood. He crooked his finger in a beaconing motion and she stepped forward, two strides taken before that finger turned to a palm-outward gesture to stop. He removed his doublet and hung it beside her cloak before he returned to her, his hands moving to lift her hair and banish it behind her. 

“Seems they got the coloring right at least.” His palm laid against her neck just above her shoulder, his thumb brushing against her cheek. “Dark hair and blue eyes. Open your mouth.” he lifted his brows when she did not do so immediately and she gave a little twitch and obeyed. His other hand drew her chin down, making a show of inspecting. “All your teeth are there and no stench of rot or liquor.” he pressed lightly against her chin and she closed her mouth. “You’ve a mouth made for the work.” His index finger brushing the trace of her lips, his eyes following his touch. How he loved her mouth. 

He had conjured this scenario, that she was a private stock whore, bought to satisfy his aching need for her and her alone was meant to show that even were he not her husband, he wanted no woman who as not her. Everything he would list as a requirement would prove that. 

“I doubt you’ll actually satisfy my every request,” he spoke without affection, his hand rising to her hair to tangle it around his fist and when she gasped and shivered his brows shot up. “Tender scalp? Another mark in your favor.” he bent his head to her throat, pulled taut by his grip, the hot caress of his tongue running along the thrum of her pulse beneath her jaw. “The smell of lilac and lust. So rare a perfume, my dear.” he nipped at her ear. “So far you are surpassing my expectations.” He stepped back and undid his wrists, rolling up his sleeves. “I trust you are not a virgin.” 

She shook her head. 

“Is that a no, you are not, or no, I am incorrect?” He folded his arms. “Speak one word of answer. No more.” 

She opened her mouth, then closed it, seemingly trying to answer two questions with one word. “Unchaste.” her voice husky and she cleared her throat faintly. 

“Good. I assume you were unwise with your trust? Some dull little farm boy with sweet words in the summer moonlight? Or was it many? It does not matter. I hold no value in ignorance.” 

She balked, frowning as she lifted her index to show that there was only one. She watched as he slowly uncrossed his arms. 

“Broken but not ruined? I will have to add a little to the payment for such a fine job. It is almost as if you were created to satisfy my fantasy.” He moved to circle her as he spoke, his arms tucked behind him. “You see, I saw a girl once. I think she might have been a servant. She acted like one certainly. I was there to woo a fine and well-born lady and yet all I could think about was fucking the staff.” The word on his lips felt unclean, but at the moment, so did he. 

She twitched at the word, her brow knitting as she looked at him from the corner of her eye. “Offended? You are in a whorehouse, my dear. You will get used to such words. This is not a place of poetry.” He reached out and dipped his fingertip under the edge of her bodice just above her breast, sliding along the lace with a tickle-tender caress. “Where was I? Oh yes.” he caught her eyes. “I was telling you how much I wanted to _fuck_ her.” 

She nodded twice, tearing her gaze from his. His hand withdrew unhurriedly. “Since I left that place, I have been consumed by that image. So, I went to the Madam of this establishment and I was quite clear in what I wished her to find me. Thus far, you could be her twin. Were you bought or sold?” 

She looked at him in slight confusion. 

“Did they pay you to come here, or were you enslaved and sold to the brothel at auction?”

She seemed to be considering the answer. There was no right or wrong, though he was curious which she’d choose. 

“Sold.” 

“I see. If you were enslaved, one would imagine you know how to obey commands.” He circled her once fully before he seated himself on the trunk behind her. “Turn around.” 

She pivoted and stood, hands clasped before her. 

_“Lutsch meinen Schwanz.”_

She gasped and blinked at him like he’d gone mad and maybe he had. He wanted to push her. To see how deviant she could become if he encouraged it. Needing her to sink to meet his lowest self, the part of him too disgusting to exist in a world outside of the Street of Lanterns. His blackest soul crying out for someone to save him. 

“Now.” he growled and pointed at the floor between his feet. “I want to feel that mouth in the next five seconds or I’m going to throw you to the lot downstairs and I promise, they won’t be near as genteel as I have been.” 

She took a step back and he leaned in, his face a mask of tense fury as she did so, but he relaxed as she lifted her hem and bent her knees, sinking down to the floor, crawling toward him the few feet required. He had drawn himself free as she reached him. She had touched him before, even tasted him, but to crawl to him, to bend to him in such an uncouth way, it made it feel far different. 

Her fingers wrapped around him, slowly leaning forward to let the flat of her tongue run from the base of him to the tip. “Mmmm…” he groaned and leaned back on a bracing palm. She lapped at him slowly and he twitched whenever she found a tender spot. Her lips wrapped around him and she drew him inside of her warm mouth. He closed his eyes, pushing down the urges to stop her. To hide the worst of himself. That, however, would ruin everything. She had said she loved him. Let her try to love the worst of him. 

Every movement was torment and bliss. He said the worst things, spoke to her as though she were nothing but the most depraved harlot and with every second he felt his control slipping. He could think of only his pleasure, only his enjoyment and deep beneath his conscious thought,he was disgusted with himself. Still, the pleasure grew, twisting, rising and he would lose himself. “No.. not like this.” He pulled her back, gritting his teeth at her, unable to quell his need to grab the rapidly unraveling threads of his control. He moved from the chest and knelt on the ground, pushing her forehead gently to the floor. “Don’t lift your head until I say!” He paced quickly, his hardness throbbing wickedly as he took deep breaths to calm himself. Eventually, he was able to at least get it under control enough to get his pants back over it. He looked back at her as he paced, curled up on her knees, her head to the floor and that darkness reveled. 

“Do you know what she did?” The question was obviously rhetorical as he simply went on without pause. “She told me no. I offered her the world… and she told me no.” He knelt down again beside her, his hand petting through her hair. “It drove me mad. I wanted to take her anyway. Throw her on her knees like this and make her weep with regret. But, alas, I did not. Instead, I have you. You are so much like her.” His hand slid down along her back. “Except you won’t tell me no, will you?”

She said nothing, and he did not stop the urge to lift his hand and bring it down hard against the flesh of her backside. “WILL YOU?!” 

“No, My Lord!” She squealed and wriggled in a manner that only made the beast roar for more. 

“What did you just say to me?” Even to his own ears the voice was low and chill. 

She bit her lip, realizing what she’d done too late. He swatted again and she bucked at the sting. “Ow! Please…” 

“Say you will never deny me.” Another swat, his palm stinging from the ferocity of the strike. 

“Never.” She whimpered. 

“Never say it, eh? You are just as cruel as she was!” Another swat came down and she attempted to crawl away, but he snatched her hair again and pressed her cheek to the floor again, taking care to be gentle as he could, even in his lustful desperation. 

“Please, My Lord I will never deny you, I swear it!” She gasped as he pulled her nightgown up over her back, the radiant heat of her swatted backside exposed to the air and his eyes. He could see his handprints, Eight fingers, two thumbs, overlapped markings that were hot and ruddy. 

“Mmm.” His hand slid over her tender skin, the heat smoothed out, like spreading butter on a bit of bread. “I am almost sorry to hear it. Your ass is quite fine and pretty when it is all warmed up.” 

She cooed, damn her. That little sound of pleasure that sent him over the edge. His little dove. On a whim, he bent over her and ran his tongue over the still-warm skin, then sank his teeth in with a soft snarl. She let slip a squeak of shock. He had not hurt her but still she flinched. He bit, slow and firm, and when he lifted his head the dotted crescent lines of his teeth showed on her paling skin. He shuddered at the sight of it, again appalled at how seeing her marked made his inner demon exult. 

He threw her nightgown back down as he rose, covering the mark. “I don’t care what your name was before you were bought for me, but as of now, you will wear her name and you will suffer for her sins. Get up.” he resumed his pacing. 

She stood up, wavering a bit, her eyes watching him nervously. 

“When I ask you a question, you will respond as follows. ‘My Lord’s to use as he pleases.’ Am I clear? Nod.” He did not give her any option of saying no. 

She nodded. 

“Good, let’s try, shall we?” He crossed his arms. “Whose lips are those?”

“My Lord’s, to use as he pleases.” 

He stepped closer, lifting her hair from her face, and brushing it back. He bent his head and kissed her, deeply plundering with his tongue, his breath hot on her cheek as he consumed her kiss like a drunkard downed liquor. The kiss broke, his lips hovering close, panting against her mouth. His hands slid down her shoulders, dragging her nightdress with it, over her shoulders and down her arms. “Whose breasts?”

“My Lord’s. To be used as he pleases.” 

“ _Ja, mien Engel._ Mine.” He cupped them in his palms and squeezed. “So perfect.” His head bowed and suckled at her nipples in turn, back and forth, teasing with fingers what his mouth had left abandoned, the peaks drawn to stony arousal, his mouth leaving pink swaths on the ivory flesh around them. He stood up and stepped back, his base nature almost overwhelming. 

“Take it off before I rip it off of you. I have grown weary of your teasing. No more denying what is mine behind cloth and walls and propriety” She had pulled it up around her arms and head, but he could not wait. He jerked it the remainder of the way and threw it across the room. His hand curled at the back of her neck and he pulled her to the bed, tossing her down into it. 

“Whose are you?”

She gasped as she pushed her hair from her face and sat up on her hip, looking at his face, utterly darkened by something primal and dangerous. “M-my Lord’s. To be used for his pleasure.” He breathed heavy and fast through his nose. 

“Again.” His hands tearing at his shirt, his eyes never leaving hers. 

“I am my Lord’s to be used as he pleases.” 

“Tell me no.” He stripped his trousers off, his palm sliding along his painfully erect length. 

“I can’t!” she shook her head. 

“Why not?”

She shook her head. “Because I do not wish to.” 

He leaned down and snapped his hand around her ankle. “Try.” He needed her to, and she was so very clever. Her other leg came up and kicked at him, fighting his attempts to pull her to him. Her heel struck his hip and the pain was minimal, but he let her go. She turned to crawl away, and he snatched her back by her hips, letting her have a few moments of hope that she could ever escape him before he drug her back to the edge of the mattress. "You will never be free." Claiming her with ease as she was as eager as he hoped. “Oh you’re so damn perfect. You are made for me. I own this. Say it!” 

“Yours! Yours, My Lord.” She gripped the bedclothes and bit down to keep from crying out as he moved without mercy. 

“Damn you.” He pulled her back, his hands wrapped around her arms just above her elbows, balanced on her knees at the edge of the mattress. “I’m never letting you go. They can’t have you. You belong to me. Always.” He grunted in her ear. “ _Schmutzig reden…_ Say you love it. Need it. Beg me.” How he wanted to drag her down to him, to writhe in base carnality. 

“I love… I “ She yelped as he pulled her back against him. “I love it, My Lord.” she gasped and wriggled in the unyeilding grip of his hands. "I have thought of nothing but My Lord all day. 

He chuckled in triumph, the word like honey, sweet from her lips. "All day you have dreamed of THIS!" Panting as he pulled her down into every thrust of his hips. 

“My Lord!” She sobbed in desperation, her voice so tender, so needful. He couldn’t bear it. “Please!” 

He dropped his hands from her arms, one wrapping across her throat, the other delving across her waist and between her legs rub and tease her tender pearl until she was breathless. “Don’t deny me what’s mine. _Wem gehört diese muschi?!”_

“My Lord! My Lord owns it!” She gasped and wriggled in fear almost of what was building and it was all white heat and convulsion when she succumbed to her bliss. Her eyes squeezed shut as they rolled back, every muscle around his violation in sinuous waves clenching. 

He growled and pounded at her every movement a battle against the constricting walls. “You will never escape me. Never deny me again. I will have you like this every...day..." He arched up into her and exploded with a groan, sending wave after wave of his heat into her still twitching sex. “That’s... what you... deserve!” It seemed endless, his body twitching even after he had no more to give. “For making me like this.” He fell against her and drug her into the curve of his body, still buried deep, tickled by the aftershocks of her orgasm. 

He lay there, terrified to move. As always afraid of what he’d find when the haze of his perversion ebbed. He was no better than Thomas. He hurt her. He struck her and marked her with his teeth. He had probably bruised her again. He was unworthy of her. Of anyone. “Why do you do that?” He finally pushed himself to ask. 

“Do what, My Lord?” Her voice gentle but he couldn’t even open his eyes. 

“Court the villain.”

She was very quiet for a long time. He began to think she might have fallen asleep when at last she spoke. “Maybe it’s because he is the man who took my first kiss. My first everything. He woke something in me. Or broke something. I don’t know.” She snuggled back against him. “Maybe I _am_ deviant.” She sounded teary. “I’m sorry.” 

“Stop that,” he spoke firmly and tugged her back against his chest. “I hate it when you weep.” He felt her shiver and though they were sideways in the bed, he reached across to pull the blanket loose and around them. “There is nothing to be sorry for. Sleep a bit. I will wake you well before anyone can notice you are gone.” 

He laid there, wishing he could comfort her. Tell her that he wanted no other woman because she was everything he needed. Express how afraid he was, and how his heart was healed a bit more each time she saw the worst of him and did not turn away. Instead, he just held her and listened to her breathing slow and deepen as she drifted off.


	34. Chapter 34

The ride home was far too quiet. The sun obscured behind the clouds of a building storm, the air was almost chilly as the carriage bounced faintly along the Amber Road. He was exhausted. He’d spent too long sleeping badly, or not sleeping at all, and he craved almost more than anything the security of his own bed and his own home and for his life to go back to what he had come to think of as normalcy. Across the carriage, he could see Renata was worried. He had lain awake all night, watching her sleep. Better said, he spent his night having unspoken conversations with a sleeping person. Confessing his troubles, telling her about what he’d done to Thomas, about what Thomas had done to her sister, how he feared that she would find out and then, being herself, would place herself into danger. He couldn’t have that. How she had pleased him not just with her body, or even with her willingness to indulge him, but with what she did not do. She did not recoil. She did not flinch when he touched her. She did not grow quiet, nervous, and fearful when she realized what sort of man she had been forced to marry. 

Four hours of sleep was all he had felt safe to allow her, another half-hour to fully wake and dress, and together they crept back to the fourth floor like thieves. He kissed her in the hall, unable to stop himself and she kissed him back. So tempted to drag her into a room he knew no other but himself occupied that night, he pulled away and shut the door to keep her safe on the other side. He listened for her door to close, then slipped back out and down the stairs. 2-C was cleared of all the folderol he had dressed it with, leaving it mussed but no different than any other room on that floor. The small crate of ‘whorehouse goods’ was carried down. He left instructions for it to be shipped to Ravenswood, and left the required money with the attendant. A wash, clean clothes, and before six he was in the lobby again, nibbling a bit of toast with egg and reading through a stack of brochures for other worthwhile spots to visit. 

At eight, a familiar dwarf entered the lobby. _“Guten Morgen, Wachtmeister_ Croger.” He gave a nod toward him as he rose. 

The staunchly built Kingsman nodded in his direction. “And to you.” He grinned a moment. “I think this may be the first time I’ve ever seen you, Lord von Friedrich, when it ain’t your family troubles that spawned the meeting.” 

He did not want to tell the little man that the streak was not ended. He had to feign ignorance for now though. He retook his seat and watched from the corner of his eye as the dwarf spoke to the desk clerk, saw the man go a bit flustered and nod, then call over another attendant so he could escort him up the long stairs to the fourth floor. A moment more, and he sprang up, heading for the stairs himself, quickly catching up, then passing, moving sprightly as he took the steps two at a time to arrive at Caspar’s room and knock, the door opening to reveal his friend just as the dwarf reached their hall. 

“... so I think it best to get everyone on the road before noon. There are clouds that worry me to the south.” Starting in the middle of the conversation as the firm knock on the door down the hall seemed to interrupt him. “Why are you beating on my wife’s door at this hour?” He asked with a mild indignance, stepping away to insinuate himself into the scene before the door could even open.

“He … he is um…” the young man from the desk looked distressed that there were Kingsmen in the hotel at all. “He is here for Lady Greier, My Lord.” His voice barely above a whisper. “No, not here for her, I mean, she’s done nothing wrong. He has a letter.” 

Croger looked up at the man with a glare, for blabbing Kingsman business. Any chastisement was cut off when the door opened. Renata stood, fully dressed, her hair braided tightly and pinned up, but she had not covered it. “What is going on?” She looked from Croger to Wilhelm then back. 

“I’ve a missive for the Lady Greier,” Croger said firmly. “Is she here or not?”

“Oh, of course, she’s here. Margareta?” Concern in her voice as the slightly puffy and uncomfortable face of her sister appeared, looking at the dwarf as she might a pile of horse dung. 

“My Lady.” He gave a bit of a bowed head and handed her the note. She opened it and, if possible, grew even paler. 

“Oh!” She wavered and Renata quickly slid an arm around her back to keep her from collapsing. “Oh Gods…”

The letter delivered, Croger gave a curt nod toward the group and walked away, the desk attendant following behind with wringing hands. 

“It’s Thomas. He’s in terrible trouble.” She seemed to be collapsing into herself before, like a bolt of lightning she suddenly shifted to manic motion. “What am I going to do? He’ll be so very angry that he had to suffer such indignity. I have to go to him.” She began to shove her scattered clothes and other items into her trunk without care for what went where before the surge passed and she collapsed, sobbing on the floor. “How will I pay?” 

Wilhelm stepped to the door. “We will see it cared for, Lady Greier.” He glanced toward Renata and read the look of gratitude and pride in him. A thrill raced through him to see her gaze at him with such rapt adoration, but it was as long-lived as a soap bubble. If she knew the truth, that look would never have been gifted to him. She would look at him only with disgust and disappointment.

“It is a sad truth, My Lady.” Matthias had obviously joined the group in the hall and spoke from behind Wilhelm. “That I have had my share of troubles with the law here. They are not cruel, and they will have treated him well. Wil knows the Kommissar. He will put all this to rights.” Consolation in his words. “Sometimes a night in the Crucible can be all a man needs to inspire him to make the right choices going forward.” 

Wil heard. The supportive portion, knowing the plan, Matthias made it clear he thought this would work. He also detected the faint underlying message beneath that one. _‘I will make the right choices. You can trust me. I have learned my lesson’_ , and he nodded toward Matthias to show he had heard him. “Come, Lady Greier. Let us get your things better arranged and then we will attend to fetching your husband.”

Upon reaching the Crucible, the man released was changed from the surly drunkard who he despised so. He was effluent in his apologies. He was tender as he embraced his wife, contrite as he promised he would make things right. 

“Thomas.” Margareta gasped behind her hands as he was lead out, her body coiled in tension. 

“I am… so very sorry.” He stepped to her and slid his arms around her, pulling her to his chest roughly with almost desperation, his head bowed to rest his cheek atop her head as he held her. “I was a fool. I was blind to what was before me.” He pulled back and took her face in his hands. “Forgive me?”

“Of course. Always.” she captured his hands and rained kisses all over them. 

Wilhelm stood aside, his arms crossed lightly over his chest, just studying the man. 

“How?” He asked after a moment. “How did you afford to get me out?”

“Lord Wilhelm.” She admitted with a shamed bow of her head. “I am grateful to you, My Lord.” She addressed him, pulled snug against Thomas’ side. 

“Yes.” Thomas nodded, his own head bowed. “I will make it right, My Lord. You have my word on that.” 

“Be happy. That is the only condition that the payment carried.” He gave a brief nod of his head and a polite smile. “That said, shall we to the crossroads?”

“I think, My Lord, that I will, if you allow it, take a more scenic route. Follow the Eistus to the Havenpath bridge and just…” he slid his hand down to envelope his wife’s. “Make sure Margareta knows that this will never happen again.” 

“I understand.” He stepped out of the dark waiting room into the warmth of the daylight as Renata moved to bid her sister goodbye a bit earlier than planned. Perhaps he was weaving his own feelings into his wife’s but he got the feeling she was not too terribly disappointed that she was parting sooner rather than later. 

When she joined him, he held his tongue until they were well out of the gates of Druvenlode. 

“Well, I am not sorry they are gone, but, I am, I suppose, hopeful that you had a pleasant visit with your sister.”

“Yes. I … I love her.” She said softly. “But she makes me weary. She needs so much more than most.” 

“Wants, perhaps, but her needs are the same. Food, shelter, warmth…” he shrugged. 

“No, My Lord. It is as vital to her as breath that she be seen and treasured. I blame our father, really. She is the vision of his first love and he could never stand to see her unhappy. He made her believe she was special.” 

“What of you? Did he not make you feel the same?”

“He saw me for who I was. I did not live as some ghostly reminder of a life he was denied, a youth he was losing more and more each year. I was just… there. Listening, learning, and he let me. I suppose in that way I too am spoiled. There are few women of my birth who are allowed the freedoms I had.” 

“I do not think you spoiled. I would love to. I would very much like to see you devoid of any desire for longer than it takes to speak it aloud, but… I have come to know that is not the fate laid out for me.” Sounding deeply depressed over it. 

“You had your chance to turn back, My Lord.” She spoke resolutely. “That you now find yourself yoked to such a woman is the choice you must live with. As my grandfather always said, ‘Love is but a word, Marriage is a sentence.” She chuckled. “A life sentence.” 

He shook his head and leaned back. “I shall have to remember that.” 

As they rode on, he almost told her the truth of what he’d done. About his mother’s bruises, the betraying notes in Margareta’s voice and in Thomas’ that made it all too clear to him what was happening. That he’d had the man beaten and thrown into jail, that he was living now under the threat of death if he did not stop beating his wife... but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. 

“Matthias said you were quite popular at dinner.” 

He was shocked by her sigh of exasperation. “Oh, that was so very horrid.” She shook her head. “They meant well, I am sure, and had the situations been reversed it would not have mattered, but each one the fine Rexxentrum ladies made poor Margareta feel invisible. They invited me to join them for tea or for _'parties that are being planned even now'_ " she said with that sort of excited eager tone they had used. "All the while they were polite, perhaps, yes, but they fawned at me and nodded only genially toward Margareta. I am comfortable in the background. It is the whole of the nine hells for her.” She twisted her hands in her lap. “I felt so badly for her. Every visitor was just another stab at her feelings of being cheated out of being your wife.” 

He frowned anew. “I am sorry you were hurt.” What she described was exactly what he had wanted. The evening had been planned, before the detour had been devised, for one purpose. To have Renata praised and fawned upon and see her sister choke on her tongue in jealousy. See her drowning in the realization that she was now the lesser one. The wife of a mere merchant. No longer the brightest flower and topic of every courtier's praise. He never considered that it would actually hurt Renata. 

“It was, as I said, surely not intentional. They were all just curious. In no time there will be some new thing to distract them. I wager that by week’s end, they will have forgotten they even spoke to me.” She smiled consolingly. 

“I should doubt that possible, My Lady.” He rested his hands atop his knees, feeling a bit confined. His guilt was pricking at him too keenly. He sank to silence, afraid that if he opened his mouth it would be like a box of spiders and all his secrets would rush out and skitter off before he could stop them. Not only what he’d done to Thomas, what he’d sought to do to Margareta. Then there was last night, and the words that went unsaid. How could he have done that to her? He couldn’t breathe. 

“My Lady, I … I think I should like some air.” He all but dove for the door, banging hard until it slowed and even then he stumbled and nearly fell from jumping before it had slowed enough for a graceful descent. He stalked off, knowing she had to be watching him go and thinking he was mad. “Matthias.. Please, I need air.” he motioned for his brother to dismount. “Keep Renata company.” 

He pulled himself up into the saddle that his brother had given up and rode on, moving to the opposite side of the caravan than Caspar. He did not want to talk. He needed to be alone with his self-recrimination. He didn’t want to hear he was a good man. He wasn’t. He was cruel and brutal and wicked. He would destroy her. Smother her warmth and light like the black clouds of a winter storm until only ice and cold remained. His mind twisted, his heart black. All he had done was make people miserable. Vengeance. Cruelty. Deceit. _Worthless!_ He winced at the almost audible voice. Snapping the reins and digging in his heels, he lead a quicker pace, and the rest could only move to catch up. He quickly outpaced them though try as he might, he couldn’t outrun himself. 

The village was barely noted as he rode through. He reached the gate and instantly was greeted with a specter on his doorstep. He dismounted and watched as it moved slowly toward him. The darkness of garments made the pallor even more stark. Glossy feathers brushed the edge of a sharp jawline, the almost alabaster skinned face seemed to be untouched by the ravages of time, and yet he seemed older somehow. The blue eyes paler than his own were framed in almost feminine lashes that, like the brows and the hair that was pulled sleekly back, was so light a blonde as to be almost white. 

“Hello Bertram.” Wilhelm nodded when he was close enough to hear it. “You’re early.” 

“Am I unwelcome in my brother’s house?” An emotionless question, sylvan fingers woven before his waist. 

“No, never. By rights it is yours anyway. You should be lord, and you know it.” 

“I have no desire to leave my Matron’s service.” He followed as Wilhelm lead the horse back to the barn. “That remains unchanged. Do not fear I come to usurp you, Wilhelm.” 

“I don’t care if you did. I never wanted this.” 

“It is your fate to be Lord of Ravenswood. I knew it then, I know it better now. She shows me things.” His cloak’s hem trailing softly as he walked. “Things that leave me concerned.” 

“Oh, is that so.” He stripped the saddle off and removed the halter and bit. “What sort of things.” 

He gave a little tip of his head to the side as his shoulder lifted. “I do not know yet. Her words are not always clear, but I feel the answers are to be found in Ravenswood.” 

The sound of the rest of the party arriving pulled a sigh from Wilhelm’s core. “May as well introduce you then. Come along.” He secured the stall and dusted his hands as he lead his brother toward the courtyard. 

“Bert!” Matthias grinned as he appeared in the door of the carriage, hopping down and quickly throwing his arms around his brother, ignorant of the grimace and arch away. “I didn’t expect to see you until Cuersaar!” 

Looking very much like a bird fluffing its feathers and preening, Bertram stepped back and smoothed his clothing, delicately petting the feathers that covered the mantle of his cloak and rose up his collar. “Good day, Matthias. It is good to see you so well.” His eyes were sharp as he looked at the much younger man, his lips in a firm line betraying nothing. 

Wilhelm walked past, his hand held out at the carriage door to help Renata descend. She was smiling faintly, obviously not perturbed that she’d been abandoned by the one she’d shared the remainder of the ride home with, looking toward Matthias and Bert with a widening smile. 

“Bertram, I would like to introduce you to …” 

“YOU!” Bert’s calm face slid into a pale mask of rage, his hand at his hip drew a dagger free and ran toward her with murder in his eyes.


	35. Chapter 35

Instantly, Wilhelm threw himself between them, pushing her behind him with one arm as the other drew his sword instinctively.

She had little time to do anything but register the hatred in the man’s face as he came short and stood, his eyes glaring death at her. He drew back slowly, the dagger lifted, then with a swift motion he turned and sheathed it in a single move, stalking away toward the gate.

“Go.” She gave Wilhelm a slight nudge to break the tension that seemed to be holding him in place. He looked back at her, so many things in a single glance conveyed. Uncertainty, confusion, his feeling of being torn, and then he was gone, walking swiftly to catch up. She was keenly aware of every eye on her now. “Alright. Things to do.” She clapped her hands together. “Matthias, Caspar, if you would see that everything is unloaded into the house please.” She turned to the guards. “Denis, see to the carriage when it is emptied. Karl. Merton. “ a nod to each in turn. “Please see that the horses are all attended. Oren.” She glanced his way. “See to it that everyone is aware that Lord Wilhelm and his brother have gone to walk a bit and catch up on things.”

She knew there was no way to stop the spread of the tale of what had happened, but at least she could ensure something was being done in the meantime. She lifted her skirts a bit and walked to the house, pausing only to ring the bells and call the staff to attend to getting life at the castle back on track. She busied herself, trying to keep her mind from the terror she had felt when he’d sprang at her. Why had he done it? What crime did she commit to warrant such venomous hatred?

It was evening when they returned. She heard that they entered his private study and there they stayed. Neither came down to dinner. She wanted desperately to find out what was said, what had caused the near attack but she could not. She sat quietly while Lucinda brushed out her hair, then braid it into two loose plaits so she could sleep without it getting in her face. Her travel trunk had been diverted, the clothes in need of laundering were even now being cleaned, the others hung back in her wardrobe except for one of the stack of sleeping gowns she’d found waiting on her bed, having been delivered the day before.

“Is all well, M’lady?” Lucinda asked quietly as the last knot was done.

“I do not know. I hope it will be so, but today was very strange, and I am left a bit perplexed.” She offered a wan smile. “I am sure all will be right come the morning.”

“I hope so, M’lady.” Lucinda extinguished the lamps and stirred the fire one last time before making her way out. The bed seemed large and cold as she climbed in, her thoughts tangled. Tossing and turning, what sleep she had was ruined by dreams where the blade had struck too fast to be stopped and she woke weeping and alone.

The next day dawned and it was hardly better. There was a coldness. A painful separation that she could neither understand nor breach. She did not press, she was polite and gave space to her husband and his brother. Well, his eldest. The younger was in the garden when she arrived, her new gloves being pulled on as she walked.

“My Lady.” he bowed low, his features showing a mirroring of her feelings of confusion and ill-ease.

“Good day, Juncherre.” She moved slowly, and he fell into pace beside her as she moved to the furthest reaches of the garden. “I think I may have made a small mistake. The druid promised me a year of good growth. Of production most magnificent.” She sighed and gestured to the beds, the tell-tale sign of a weed infestation visible. “It seems that meant all the growing things. We will have to be very vigilant.” She knelt down and began the work of plucking out the plants that did not belong before the garden looked as bad as it once had.

“I … I don’t know much about gardening.” He crossed his arms over his chest and rocked from toe to heel a few times. “I frankly don’t know much about anything.”

“I am sure you know how to hunt. This..” She held up a small green plant with clustered leaves on a long slender stem. “Is our prey.” With a motion of her hand indicating the other side of the flowerbed. He rolled his eyes, and his sleeves then knelt down opposite her and began the work of pulling weeds. “Now, tell me what truly is weighing on you.”

“I have murdered someone.” he said softly and she was unable to stop herself from gasping. He began to rise and she reached across, taking his arm before he could. “Please. Do not go. I want to help but I can't if I don't know what happened. What did this person do to earn death?” She could tell he was being hurt by it. There was nothing she could do except offer to help him shoulder the burden.

“She did not love me. I, I fell in love with this woman. A woman from The Garden. Not… not this garden, but a house of…” he blushed a bit.

“I am aware of their existence. Go on.”

“I asked her to come away with me. To become a real woman. A proper woman and … she laughed at me. She said she was quite real and that proper didn’t pay nearly as well.” He pulled with more desperation. “I … I thought she’d be happy. She’d throw herself in my arms and we’d leave that place and she’d be content to be a wife and a mother and …” he slowed. “She said I was a silly boy. That she’d die before she gave up control of her own life. That I was… wasn’t to come see her anymore. I had to though. I knew if I was just diligent enough. If I was there when she realized how wrong she was, she’d finally realize we belonged together. “ he stopped, his jaw tense. “I was drunk. I saw her in another man’s arms. I … I felt it here.” he pushed against his stomach with his fist, as if trying to dig in under his ribs to his heart. “She would never love me back. I… I didn’t care. I fought the man, I … shouted that she was mine and no one else would have her. That I would never stop. That she’d come around.”A tear rose and he wiped it away quickly, leaving his cheek streaked with soil turned to mud. “She hung herself while I lay drunk in jail.”

“Oh.” She swallowed softly, her own eyes stinging with sympathetic tears. “I am so very sorry.”

“I went back. I’m forbidden… but I snuck away. I went back and Fleur showed me the letter. Lily was afraid of me. She hated me. She took her life because I …” He shook his head. “It was my fault. I murdered her sure as if I’d put the rope there myself.”

She quietly continued weeding as she considered things. “You are not a murderer. You are an idiot.” She looked up at him. “You are young and stupid, and you made a mistake and something terrible happened. She killed herself and you were the excuse, but not the reason.”

He was obviously upset, angry at being spoken to like that, but also hurting from having to relive the memory. “What the hell does that even mean?”

“What was her life before The Garden?”

“Huh?” He now looked confused.

“Where was she born? Who were her parents? What made her take the employment she did?”

“I… I never asked.” He shook his head. “I didn’t want her to think her past mattered to me. Only our future.”

“Matthias…” She sighed. “Look…” she reached down and snapped the next weed off at the surface. “The spot looks clean, yes. It looks as if all the problems are gone.” She dug in the dirt, revealing the pale network of roots left behind. “Her problems are the roots. You do not know what lay beneath her surface. Those are where the true problems grew. You were the… the hand that broke off the top, certainly. You were easy to blame. It is far easier to blame others than look deep. Seek out the roots. Pull them out and see them in the light.” She did so, plucking until there were no more in the soil and it was turned and dark. “What killed her was this…” She held up the roots. “Not you.” She held up the tiny broken bit of green that had been visible.

He nodded faintly and resumed the task of pulling weeds. They worked in silence for an hour, moving bed to bed. The sun began to rise, and they had done seven before she suggested they pause for the day and seek a bit of water and shade for a bit.

“You go rest. I have sword practice and there’s a new lad come in so it’s… it’s kind of nice to not be the most hopeless student for once.”

“Of course. Thank you for helping me.”

“You’re welcome, _Schwägerin_ ” He leaned down and gave her a quick peck on the cheek before he strolled out toward the courtyard.

She chuckled faintly and turned to go fetch the broom. She could at least clear away the weeds before she went in. In the shadows near the castle she caught motion, but it was gone before she could even be sure she’d seen it. Nervously, she found the broom and swept the walkway clear, the weeds gathered up into her apron and carried to the refuse pile. She went in only for pitcher and cup, pouring water into the vessel as she walked back out, her back aching by the end of the afternoon, but the garden was devoid of weeds. She abstained from dinner and retired early, bone-weary and she slept well past daybreak.

Thus passed the next three weeks. She dined early or late to assure that meals were not ruined by her presence. She kept to herself, finding things to occupy herself that kept her out of sight and out from underfoot. The parcels from Druvenlode began to arrive. Each day it seemed some new thing was being delivered. Lucinda’s dress, which the woman was driven to tears by, her thanks so overflowing that she actually forbade the woman from speaking the words ‘thank you’ for two days at risk of losing her salary for that day. The new furnishings for the sitting room were far lighter than the heavily carved oak, and allowed that the chairs could be moved near the window when she was sewing or set in a more conversational grouping when … if… she ever entertained.

Though she’d told Wilhelm she was sure all the ladies of Rexxentrum would forget her, a few had not. There had been an invitation to a hunt at the end of Cuersaar and another for a ball on the winter solstice. She would bring them up to Wilhelm after Ascension Night was concluded and Bertram went back to his temple. When the new items for the guest rooms arrived, she hauled up the crates and stripped the terrible flowery prints to be cleaned, stored, and shut away in the attic The furnishings were still gilded and gaudy, but the more subdued bedcoverings and draperies toned it down just a little. She was balancing on the stepstool, pushing the iron rod into its hook on the corner of the bed when the wood cracked and she went down with a scream and a heavy thud.

“Ow…” She lay very still, checking for anything broken before moving.

“Oh my Gods! Are you alright?” Matthias dove into the door and was at her side, looking her over for any outward signs of injury.

“I’m… I’m fine.” she pushed up to sit and rubbed the knot at the back of her head. “I think I hurt my ankle is all.”

He drug her hem up and gasped sharply. The stool had not just broken, she’d gone through it before it snapped in two and her ankle and the top of her foot were seeping crimson beads through a dozen or more deep scratches. “Do not move.” he sprang up and darted off.

“Oh but I was thinking of going for a long walk in the mountainside.” She muttered sarcastically as she looked around for something to keep from dripping blood on the rugs. It was at that moment that Matthias returned with a towel and wrapped her ankle in it. He unstoppered a flask and unwound the towel, pouring out the clear liquid that burned like the fires of Phlegethos over her ankle and foot. The smell of some very strong liquor prickled at her nose.

“Ow… thank you.” She hissed under her breath at the sting. “I’m just glad it was me and not one of the servants to be atop it when it finally succumbed.”

“Why would you say such a thing?” He wrapped her ankle back up for the moment, putting the carved wooden stopper back into the flask.

“Well, if I spend a week sitting on my backside doing nothing, it is expected. A servant would feel bad and possibly push themselves to work when they were not yet recovered.”

He cradled her foot as he shook his head. “And you are different in what way? I do not think you have suffered an idle minute since we returned from Druvenlode.” He set his teeth in frustration. “You shouldn’t have been on the damn thing in the first place. Tasks like these are why we have servants, My Lady.”

“Why then do we have two hands then? Why do you work with the men every day to practice to defend this castle if needed? Because you are a part of it. You work alongside those hired because it is what is right. I am not made to be just another trinket that sits about the castle unmoving until it needs dusting. If the mistress of the castle cannot be trusted to even hang a curtain without help, what sort of mistress am I?” Her ire up, fed by the throbbing and painful reminder of her own clumsiness.

He shook his head and checked the bleeding again. “I think you will live. “ A smile sent up toward her as he glanced to the shattered remnants of the footstool. “Which is more than I can say for your opponent.”

“I should get that cleaned up.” She moved to pull her foot free and winced. “Damn!” It seemed the scratches were not the only damage done to her ankle.

“Come along.” he helped her to stand, though she could put no weight on her right leg. “No helping it.” He swept her up in his arms and walked out the door. “To your room, My Lady.”

She couldn't walk there herself, so she folded her hands in her lap and did her best to bite her tongue and be hauled about like some invalid. It was deeply embarrassing to fall, and now it was so very much worse. “Thank you.” She said quietly as she bowed her head.

He carried her down the hall to her room and set her gently on her chair by the vanity. “I’ll fetch your maid to bring some bandages to get that wrapped up. It will help immeasurably. “ he stepped back and paused at the door. “Thank you.”

“For what?” she chuckled. “I did nothing but prove yet again I am a graceless clod without the brains given a goose.”

“No.” he was quite serious. “For the talk we had in the garden. It was ...helpful.” He swallowed softly. “I have missed having a sister in whom I could confide.”

“Anytime.” She bowed her head politely and he turned quickly, rushing off. Less than five minutes passed before Lucinda appeared with a basket of wrappings and herbal pastes that were dabbed over each scratch before the linen bandages were wound firmly but not too tightly around her foot and ankle to give it stability and hold the medicine in place.

She hopped over to the chair, aided by Lucinda and settled into it, the injured foot set up on a pillow-topped stool. “This is ridiculous.” She muttered as she cast an annoyed look toward the other woman as she packed up the basket again. “I can’t just sit around doing nothing.”

“You’re not doing nothing, M’lady.” Lucinda draped a thin blanket over her legs. “You are recovering. More you fight it, the longer it will take. It is up to you whether you are down for a day or a week.” A sensible and polite tone as she stepped back, clasping her hands at her waist.

Renata growled under her breath. “Point taken.” At least fetch me my sewing basket so I may be a usefully occupied invalid?”

“Of course, M’lady.”

So passed the remainder of her afternoon and into the evening. The basket of handwork emptied before the light dimmed too greatly. Her dinner was delivered to her and cleared away, and Lucinda came to help her change for bed. Wilhelm did not visit. Not that night, nor all the next day, or the day after. She had nothing but time to think as her ankle healed and contemplation was far more damaging than the fall had been.

He had been strange since the night she had chosen the black envelope. He had been distant and preoccupied in the carriage, suddenly unable to stand her presence any longer he’d fled as he had before, when they were strangers to one another. He said that her passions were natural. He courted them. He then mocked her, made her crawl and become his whore and once he saw the depths of her depravity, was sickened.

His brother had seen in an instant how evil she was. He was, after all, a cleric. She knew how devout worshipers were given knowledge of secret things. Unbidden, her memory turned on half a dozen occasions where she had come upon her grandfather in his nightly walks standing pooled in the light of the moons, his eyes closed, petitioning his goddess for insight on things that no mortal could fathom.

The dream came back to her. The oily feeling of the Moonweaver’s influence on her thoughts. Was it her grandfather’s influence that had tainted her? Might his closeness to a goddess who luxuriated in the base and depraved have infected her somehow? Imprinted her with a dread degeneracy before she’d even left her girlhood? A wicked seed that had been planted long ago but only now was bearing fruit?

“Why do you suffer?” As if she had been spying at the keyhole of Renata’s mind, the voice of that prurient goddess intruded, more thought than audible. “Pleasure is a berry, Child. Swift to grow, to ripen, to rot away. So they grow by the hundreds. So many to pluck. You taste, and then you move on to the next bush for there are so many varieties to savor.”

Hatred, of the words and of her own weakness welled up within her. “I would live a life devoid of all pleasure to be at My Lord’s service. You know nothing of friendship. Of working toward a common goal. Of the joys of constancy and loyalty. I have no place in my life for your lies.” She ground it out through clenched teeth and hobbled to the window, jerking the drapes to close. Better to live in darkness than to succumb to such a life as she realized her grandfather had reveled in. A life without trust or companionship. Closing out the moon did not stop the voice, a feather-soft thing that left traces behind like fingerprints on glass.

“Do you imagine he is not, even now, considering how to rid himself of the burden of your cloying demands upon him? You deny him joy as well.”

She did not want to listen, but she could not shut it out. He was indeed miserable. The few times she had been unable to stay out of his way he had looked at her with a hardness in his eyes that she could not think was anything less than dislike. She wanted only his happiness. She had thought to go once. Perhaps it was not as bad an idea now. 

He had said that night that they were fated. That to defy fate was a terrible crime against his Matron of Ravens? Was it not equally true that his Raven Queen spoke of death being the natural end of all things and to attempt to keep alive what had died was a great sin, was that not also true of a dead love? After what she had done, it was sensible that all affections would perish, and she would not attempt to put the romance in necromancy. She would mourn, and be as unobtrusive as she could. She owed him that much.

 

 

 

He sat in his study, the air heavy and dull, the darkness around him anything but comforting but he couldn’t bear the light. Not anymore. Not since Druvenlode. 

He’d been shocked when Bertram had drawn a knife on Renata. He’d almost run his own brother through. If he had not backed down, he would have. He knew it. He’d held his temper only as long as it took to get out of Renata’s earshot before he’d taken Bertram by his shirtfront and slammed him against the wall. “What do you think you’re doing!”

“I have seen that face.” He hissed through his teeth. “My Matron has shown me. I saw her with Matthias. On top of him. I saw her hands covered in his blood and a knife in his chest!” 

“No.” he shook his head. “That is ridiculous. Renata would never hurt Matthias. She would never hurt anyone.” 

“I have seen it. Same I saw Brigitta’s wedding and you did not heed me then, did you?!” 

He let go, stepping back and shaking his head. “No.” He remembered how he’d laughed at Bert for being nervous. Chalked it up to being unused to anything joyous. If he’d taken him seriously, perhaps the night would have ended differently. Maybe his brother and sister would be alive still. 

“You don’t know her.” 

“Do you?” He smoothed his clothes back into place. “What do you truly know of her? You think because I am not in this place that I do not keep up with what goes on here? I know that you left here to marry one sister and returned with another because she deceived you.” 

“That’s unfair.” Wilhelm began. 

“But not untrue.” 

“No. Not untrue.” He admitted. “She had her reasons.” 

“Oh, I imagine she made up quite the story.” 

“She is not the sort of woman you are painting her to be. She is a good woman. Ask anyone.” 

“Matthias?”

“Yes, he will tell you so.”

“She spends much time with him does she?”

“They had dinner just last night.” he lifted a hand. “And before you try to twist it into something sordid, her sister was with them in a very public restaurant.”

“I know only what I have seen. A jealous husband, a cruel wife, Matthias dead and his blood on her hands. ” He lifted his chin. “Ignore my visions again if you wish a repeat of the last time!”

They had argued but it had been nothing but circles round and round until both were weary of attempting to come to any manner of agreement. He had been soured when he returned and was no fit company. He was prepared to send Renata away, that he was not feeling well, but she did not come. He waited for her at breakfast and when she did appear, he was frustrated and upset at his brother still, and her mood did not look to be any better. Conversation was stilted and he could see she had withdrawn. He was too volatile to risk uncorking his emotions enough to attempt to draw her out. 

He spent an hour or so in his study, just working to try and think of anything but how much he was making a mess of things. He should confess what he’d done in Druvenlode. Apologize for hurting her family, for hurting her. Promise he would do better in the future. He would seek her out. He checked the sitting room, and then the conservatory where he saw her working in the garden. Matthias was across from her. She was paying heed to the plants, but he was not. He was looking across at her with a gaze that was too gentle. Too needful. They rose and he stepped back from the window. He saw Matthias lean in toward his wife and saw red, turning to go find and end him.

He was stopped at the front door as Bertram stepped in, blocking his path. “You saw, I trust?”

“I saw.” he could see it still. His brother pulling her in and kissing her. He was going to push Matthias’ face in! 

“And still you doubt my vision is true?”

He opened his mouth to argue but bit it back. “You spend too much time in that damn temple, Bertram. Your life is so wrapped up in death you’ve forgotten what living is like.” He chose to turn and go into his private study rather than try to push past. He’d have it out with Matthias later. 

She did not come to dinner that night. Nor did she come to his room. For the first week, he supposed it might have been her monthly or that they had company in the castle, but it drug on until he was certain of the true reason. She had seen his darkness and shrank from it. He had hurt her. He treated her like a whore, made her crawl, abused her, spoke to her like she was some low and depraved thing and not the Lady of Ravenswood, due respect and honor. She had been degraded her whole life. Made to feel less than her worthless sister, and he had, though it was never his intent, made her feel worthless again. 

He saw her only rarely, and when he did, she looked at him with fear in her eyes. She looked like his mother. He had taken a woman of brightness and hope and turned her into a cowering skittish creature that moved in shadow rather than risk stepping out into the open where he might find her. He withdrew to his own rooms whenever possible now if only to allow her the chance to move through her own home like a person, not a mouse. He took to the bottle. The bitter taste of liquor burning his tongue and souring his stomach but the numbness of drunkenness made it possible to sleep, to forget, somewhat, that he was an irredeemable bastard. Caspar tried to stop him. Tried to tell him he was being stupid and irresponsible but he didn’t understand. No one did. No one could. 

He had never confronted Matthias over the garden. It was the only time he could remember that she had seemed happy since they’d returned. Had he not fled the carriage? Forced them together? What had passed between them in that private space? No doubt it had been nothing more than talk. Her concerns, her unhappiness spilled to ears that were sympathetic. Matthias no doubt tried to console her, to tell her that he was not so terrible, but both of them knew. Knew he was unqualified for his position as Lord of Ravenswood, unworthy of his wife’s trust or affection. He did not imagine they were lovers, but two of many who were hurt by his own weakness and inadequacy. 

He heard a distant shout. It seeped into his consciousness slowly, and he rose, wavering and having to grab the back of the chair for stability. He heard footsteps as he reached the door and opened it a crack. He watched as Matthias, Renata in his arms, made his way toward her room. He shut the door and rested his forehead against the wood. Bitter anger rose up inside of him, jealousy and hatred and he reached for his waist to grab his sword but he’d removed it and left it… somewhere. 

The anger faded as he thought of how she used to be. So happy. So warm and open and full of laughter. Didn’t she deserve some happiness? He obviously could not give it to her. If she found comfort in another’s arms, would he steal that joy from her too? Would he make her as miserable and hollow as he was out of spite? No. He was unworthy of her, but he loved her. He stumbled back to his chair and his bottle and wept and swore and threw things and, in the end, passed out only to suffer dreams that underlined just how happy she could be if he just … left her alone.


	36. Chapter 36

The Night of Ascension was growing nearer. Her ankle had healed almost wholly, and though she had recovered from the pains of that injury, the pains of her husband’s distance were a wound renewed each day. She was growing equally angry as she was hurt. She was half tempted some days to damn her vow to give him his needed space and confront him. The fear that he would speak confirmation to her fears, deride and reject her outright, that was what kept her from doing so. It was one thing to suspect, and a completely different animal to know. 

Like her doubts, the weeds seemed to be ever-growing. She spent almost every other day pulling new shoots of green from the dirt, as if by keeping the garden free of invasion, she could hold to a tiny mote of control. Had this been what Lady Othmar had felt? Tears stung at the edges of her vision and she forced them down when she heard someone coming. 

“Good day to you, Lady von Friedrich.” 

It was the young lad Petrus. He had been improved by the weeks that had passed. The black eye had long since faded, though he had acquired a few new and well-earned bruises that came from training with the castle guard. Good food and work had put more meat upon his lanky frame and he stood with greater confidence. The green sapling finding good soil to root itself in so it could grow to a mighty tree someday. 

“And to you, Petrus.” She smiled warmly at him, glad for the distraction from her own moody contemplation. “What does your day hold?”

“I was sent to find you.” He had not, she noticed, returned her smile. “That fair-haired lady you were with on the day we met...”

Confusion knit her brow. “Margareta? My sister is here?”

He nodded. “Yes, My Lady. She told me to tell you that you were right. She did not seem well, My Lady Wilhelm. She was ashamed to come to the castle. She remembered me, and she caught me outside of _zum Misthaufen_. She begged me to bring you this, but not to tell you where she was.” He held out a small folded letter, his face darkened with unease.

She opened the letter. It was as she feared. Thomas had proven to be the beast she had always known him to be. Margareta had fled for her life, running where she hoped he would not, at first, find her. She begged for money, for clean clothing, as she had run with nothing but that on her back. She reiterated over and again how sorry she was for her ignorance. How she was seeking to vanish into Rexxentrum where she intended to enter the service at a temple of The Dawnfather to make up for her past folly and possibly find purpose in a life she realized was, until that moment, trivial and childish.

 _Zum Misthaufen_. She knew of the place. It had suffered several fires in the kitchen and she recalled hearing Wilhelm telling someone of his want to tear the place down as he thought it unsafe. If Margareta was there, she was in dire straits indeed. She could fetch Oren, but she could not imagine it would please her sister to have an audience to her humiliation. Margareta’s pride was already too battered. She did not want to cause her further pain. 

“Petrus, wait for me outside the gate. I must fetch a few things, but I would have you show me to where you saw her last.” She made her way inside and filled a large satchel with dresses and shoes appropriate for travel. She collected her allowance from the lockbox. She hoped her father’s man would understand that he’d have to do without it this time.

She was almost out when she ran into Matthias. He took a long look, raking up and down, his eyes lingering on the bag, on her dark cloak drawn up, the furtive look she wore like perfume. He sighed softly, his hands pressed palm to palm, fingertips touching his lips for a moment as he seemed to stretch to compose his words. "My Lady... I know things have been strained with Wil since we returned. I have tried to talk to him, and it’s done me little good. I am told all marriages have their own rough patch to get over but I beg, please reconsider. He is stubborn, but he will come around soon, I am sure of it. Do not leave him."

"I am not. I..." She sighed. It would be easier to go if she had an escort. "Though you are not too far from the truth. I have heard of a woman whose husband is cruel and abusive from whom she is fleeing. I want to help her. Will you go with me and not speak of it to anyone afterward? I must have your word that even Wilhelm never find out I did this. He would be angry if I put myself in harm’s way, but I can do no less than help this poor woman."

“I could go in your stead…” 

“She would not trust a man.” Renata frowned faintly, another wave of hate and fury rising in the direction of her brutish brother-in-law. “It must be me. I fear that if I do not get to her in time she might do something more drastic than running in order to escape him.” 

She saw that unfair reminder stab true. She hadn’t lied. Margareta was desperate and proud and dramatic. She was quite possibly capable of such an act. Still, the reminder of his own lost love had been a low blow. "Of course, My Lady." he bowed his head and followed when she left the castle, meeting Petrus at the gate together. 

The boy lead them toward the tavern called _Zum Misthaufen_. It was terribly ramshackle and dark, the windows filthy, the door sitting ajar and slightly off the upper hinge. Dread prickled at the nape of her neck as she glanced to Petrus. “This is where you saw her?”

“Here in the street, yes, My Lady.” He nodded. “I still run errands for folk and I was heading to Old Roger’s to take him his medicine and the lady grabbed my arm and put the letter in my hand. I wouldn’t have paid her any mind if I didn’t remember her from before. I saw her go in as I ran off for the castle.”

"Thank you, Petrus. We have it from here.” She could not shake the feeling of ill portent as she looked to Matthias who seemed to be equally reticent. She steeled herself and pulled the door to open fully, moving inside. There was a bar, of sorts, though it was tilted as the barrels on which the plank rested were two different heights. The lamps were so black with soot that hardly any light penetrated, and what did cast unnatural shapes across the walls and floor. 

The common room seemed empty save for a single figure sitting curled up in the far corner, the hooded head twitching as if glancing around nervously. The cloak was too fine, too pretty, and too clean to belong to a local. In the attention paid to the figure, the fact that it was the only person there slipped past Renata’s mind. Had she been thinking clearly, the emptiness of the room would have been telling.

“Margareta?” She walked toward the figure, her heart in her throat, feeling an overwhelming wave of sympathy and desire to help.

The figure stood and pushed the cloak back. It was, indeed, Margareta, but if she was unwell, it showed not on her face. “Hello, Renata.” A tone of almost disappointed derision.

She knew now that something was very wrong. “Your letter said…”

“Oh, that. Well, Thomas thought you’d be difficult to lure away from your precious castle. I knew that you are weak when it comes to the downtrodden and defenseless.” A mocking pout and her hands clasped beneath her chin.

The light from outside was blocked when four men entered in quick succession, the last being Thomas Greier who sneered in her direction.

Matthias frowned and looked around the room, taking Renata by the upper arm firmly. “My Lady, we are leaving.”

“Do not do anything rash.” She said under her breath. She did not know what this was about, but rushing into things had gotten them into this mess, it would probably not get them out.

Thomas cocked his head one way, then the other, his neck popping faintly. “Listen to her, boy. Just run along. There’s no way it ends well for you if you try to get in the middle of this.”

“Out of my way.” Matthias moved to stand at her back, watching the quartet of men spreading out from the door as he drew his sword. "My Lady, come along."

"Sorry, but we've got unfinished business and this slut here is needed for it."

“Hold your tongue secure in your mouth, Sir or I will arrange that you hold it in your pocket.” Matthias snarled.

“Thilo?” Thomas spoke the name and one of the other men drew a very nasty looking blade of his own and turned it this way and that to catch the light. “Did you hear what this pup said to me?”

“Yessir, I did.” The men spreading further out through the room.

“So did I.” Another man to the left glared from under heavy brows.

Renata held tight to the bag and without allowing herself time to consider how bad an idea it was, she turned and swung it with all her might, throwing it directly at the man called Thilo standing between them and the door. “Matthias, run!”

He sprang to motion, blade out, and ran indeed, but not toward the safety of the door, but toward Thilo. Time seemed to move like cold honey. Matthias’ blade catching Thilo in the arm, but that wicked dagger now rested deep in Matthias’ chest.

“NO!” She screamed as the world raced back to a frantic pace. Falling to his side, she pressed her hands to the pouring wound. "Matthias, no..." 

“I warned him,” Thomas said cruelly as he stepped closer. “It was his own fault really.” 

She spied the dropped sword and snatched it up as she rose, the weight of it more than she expected, but still she threw herself toward Thomas to drive it into his black heart only to find herself caught and lifted from her feet by a half dozen hands. The sword clattered to the floor as she screamed and kicked and clawed. Then, with a white-hot burst of pain behind her eyes, the world vanished into darkness.

 

Wilhelm had no choice but to leave his room. His mouth tasted like the rotted wood under an ill-cleaned stable floor, he needed something to wash the taste out. He was hung-over and sick. He needed more drink, but no one would bring him anything anymore. He was utterly unloved. Dying by inches, but he deserved it. He stumbled on the stairs and, for a moment, thought it might be better to fall and break his neck than suffer like he was now. He glanced as he wavered there, toward the south wing. Was she there? Was she with him? 

Descending, he imagined Bertram would be only too happy to hear that Wilhelm had heeded his warning this time and acted on it. Doubtless, however, he would be vexed by the way he’d done it. The image of Renata mourning her lover, stabbed by a jealous husband? No. It would not come to pass now. Not because he had thrown her out as Bertram had advised so often, but because he would simply step aside and allow them the happiness that fate had denied him. 

There was an uproar outside. He blinked blearily and forced himself to step out into the afternoon sun. The men were running, and he sobered a bit, the rush of fear urging his blood to race less sluggishly. Were they under attack? He slapped himself to further stimulate his brain to work as he staggered slightly over the cobblestones. “What has happened?”

A boy, vaguely familiar, stood in Oren’s grip, his eyes wide and full of tears. “They’ve killed Matthais and they took Lady Wilhelm!”

The next six hours were at once the longest and the swiftest he had ever lived through. The men had, the instant the boy had come running up, sent a fast rider to fetch Bertram from the monument. He was a cleric of the goddess of death as well as Matthias’ brother. He was needed.

He arrived at the derelict tavern almost at the same moment Wilhelm, the boy, and a group of guards did. The floor of the abandoned interior was darkened further with blood under the pale figure of the youngest von Friedrich brother.

“Move!” Bertram shoved past them and knelt down, his eyes closing and his pale lips moved in prayer. The dagger pulled out and thrown aside, his hands laid on the seeping wound. The dark feathers seemed almost to ruffle, the pale fingers against his brother’s chest streaked in crimson as the muttered words flowed, the wound slowly sealing. Matthias, still as death, suddenly gave a raspy gasp and then slipped to deep, slow breathing. He lived.

“You brought him back.” Wilhelm stood, shaking, torn between anger and relief.

“No.” Bertram dropped to his hip, his hands resting on his thighs. “He was not yet wholly gone. It was a thin thread that tied him here, but She allowed that he follow it back. His time is not today. He is stabilized, but he will still need to heal.” His pallor was near to transparency as he fell over onto his hip, his head hung. 

“What happened here.” Wilhelm looked toward the youth. He had managed to catch a few words in his panicked run here, but none of it made sense. As the boy explained about the blonde woman and the letter, that he’d shown the young lord and the Lady to the place, he admitted he’d thought all was well. That the poor sad blonde would be saved, as he had been, by the Lady’s kindness. The thought had been quickly crushed when four big men had pushed past him and gone inside. He had turned back quietly, peeked through the door, and when he heard, when he saw, he’d turned and fled toward the castle. He was angry at himself for running away, but he knew he needed to get help.

Wilhelm’s anger was like an ancient dragon tearing forth in fire and fury. He had no target at had for it save one. He reached down and grabbed hold of Bertram’s arm, twisting him to look at the small handprints on Matthias’ shirt, on the handle of his abandoned sword. “There! There is your murderous harlot. Blood on her hands on top of our brother.” He shoved him away. “She was trying to save him!”

“I… I thought… I didn’t know.” He shook his head. “I … I saw it.” He shook his head, blinking, looking utterly lost. 

Wilhelm was lashing out in all directions, his impotence, his self-awareness that if he’d been more present this would never have happened, it was making him unable to think clearly. “We need to find where they’ve gone. Turn out the guards, every road, every path! Now!” 

Bertram stood. “Wait. I can find them.” He moved to a table and sat, digging in his cloak he drew out a hand-sized effigy of the Raven Queen made of obsidian and some smooth white stone. Rubies glittered behind the dark holes of the pristine mask. He closed his eyes and then after a moment, opened them. He jerked forward faintly, then back, over and again like he was running and stopping short until he gave a small breathy inhale, his eyes fixed to some distant point beyond the wall of the tavern. 

“She is on the floor. It is moving. It is a carriage I think.” He cocked his head. “There is a man talking, but I cannot… something about a sale. A sail? Assail? I … I cannot tell, the road is too loud.” He pulled back in the chair and blinked rapidly. “I heard them. They’re fleeing the country. I heard ‘Tussoa’.”

Wilhelm knew what that meant. They were going to take the Tyoden river through the valley of the Cyrios into the Menagerie Coast. Port Damali was not far from there and he recalled that Thomas had some sort of ties to that city. He still did not feel his best self, but there was little time to plot. “Back to the castle. We are going after them. Make sure he’s made comfortable” He motioned and the guards grabbed up the unconscious figure of Matthias and hauled him quickly back to the castle to recover.

Wilhelm felt a hand on his shoulder, firm and unrelenting in its grip as he moved to follow the guards out. He whirled to face his brother, barely able to stop from punching the smug look he’d seen too often holding sway in his brother’s face right off of it. The look was haunted and fearful, however, and it stayed his hand. He looked at him, obviously wanting to say something, to purge the obvious pain behind his eyes, but he swallowed hard and though he looked, after a moment, himself again, there was still something sad there.

“Forgive me.” The other hand rose and Wilhelm only had a moment to catch the glimmering iridescence of something cast up and over his head, the motes of glitter seeming to fade before they could fall. The headache, the pains, the sickness of his hangover seemed to follow the shimmering cloud and vanish to a greater feeling of restoration. 

Wilhelm pulled back, his brow knit, and then turned, running for the castle. He paused only to change his shirt to one not stained in drink, food, and his brother’s blood. As he joined the men, mounting up, he noted a brawny bay horse moved at the edge of the row, its rider clad in black, pale hair pulled back tightly, sitting erect in the saddle.

Wilhelm pulled the reins and moved over, glaring. “What do you think you are doing? Have you not caused enough misery already?”

“Do any of them know how to scry?” He asked, his voice calm and his face unreadable. “Can they do anything to help her if she is injured?” He lifted his brows and then looked away at Wilehelm’s obvious realization. “I did not think so and we are wasting time.”

Wilhelm could not disagree with either point. Much as he wanted to wring his brother’s neck for planting the doubts in his head, he couldn’t do it now. He dug his heels in and wheeled about, galloping out of the courtyard, a cacophony of horseshoes to stone behind him echoing as the line of men raced down through the town, people rushing out of the way and watching with confusion as their Lord and the High Cleric of the Raven Queen both fled the village with but two days before Ascension Night was upon them.


	37. Chapter 37

She could hear voices. Distant. Upset. She was no longer moving, and by the smell, she was not in the carriage anymore. It smelled of mold and dust. She risked the slightest crack of one eye, then when it was clear she was alone, she opened her eyes and sat up slowly. She winced at the pain in her head, her hands bound before her, moved as one to tenderly inspect the large lump at the base of her skull. She could feel the dry crust of blood in her hair flaking away and tickling down her neck. Blinking to clear her mind and her vision alike, she glanced around to get measure of her surroundings. 

She was in a hovel, a house perhaps once, but it had been years since anyone had called it home. The room was empty except for the plank cot she’d been lying on. No tables or chairs, no decor or cabinets that might hide tools to use as weapons. Not even a blanket. There was but one window, darkened by what appeared to be overlapping boards hammered across the outside. The light peeking in through small holes in the distant thatch of the roof could have been sunrise or sunset. She had no idea. There was a single door, and as she was considering whether or not to test its lock, it swung open and Thomas’ broad form filled the doorway, stooping to enter. “Ah, you’re awake. Good.” The weather-ruined floor creaked faintly under his footsteps as he stepped in, followed by Margareta. 

“What do you want?” She forced her voice to remain quiet and calm, though inwardly she wanted nothing so much as to scream until her throat bled. 

“What all men want, my dear Lady von Friedrich. Everything.” Thomas chuckled evilly as he stood in the center of the room, arms crossed over his broad chest. “Within the hour your Lord will receive my letter and will come riding valiantly to rescue his lady love. Shame that he’s no idea the surprise I have waiting for him.” 

She shook her head faintly and gave a derisive chuckle. “You are mistaken if you think he loves me. You’ve attempted to bait a lion with a head of lettuce.” She did not know if she believed it was true, but she must have been convincing enough as Thomas drew back, frowning, looking worried. He recovered smoothly though. 

“If not for love, then for pride. Can’t have people thinking he just let this slight go unanswered.”  
He dropped his arms and smiled again. “He will come.” 

She gave a casual shrug and glanced past him at her sister. She stood, her head bowed,her arms wrapped tightly around herself, furtive and cowed in posture. The shift of her gaze flicked back to Thomas. “May I have some water while I wait, or is it your intention to kill me with thirst?”

“It is not my intention to kill you at all, Renata.” He said sympathetically. “Fetch water.” Spoken over his shoulder without taking his eyes from her. “Who’d pay for a corpse?”

“So it is ransom you’re after? You were foolish to not wait a year. It is rumored that the coming year will be far more prosperous for Ravenswood.” 

“Ransom implies he’s going to live. Ransom implies you’re going back. Neither of those is happening.” Thomas chuckled softly as Margareta returned with a cup of water and carried it over, holding it out to be taken. 

Renata claimed the cup and drained it, easing the feeling of ash in her throat. Looking to her sister, searching her eyes for some sign of pity or hope, finding none. “Thank you.” She murmured and held the cup back out between her palms. “If I am not going home.” Her attention back to her captor. “Where am I going?” 

“Ah, well that is to be _your_ surprise.” He gave a flick of his hand and Margareta scampered out. He gave a mockery of a bow in her direction and did the same, the gritty sound of a key turning in the lock when the door had closed behind him. 

She stood wavered as a rush of vertigo overwhelmed her. Closing her eyes, she counted slowly until it passed before opening her eyes again. With determination, she took a step, then another, the dizziness rising but she was slow and patient, and if she did not rush, it was bearable. Walking to ease the cramping in her legs, she inspected the small house. As she’d supposed there were four walls of wattle and daub, a door and a single boarded window. There was no furniture save for the wood cot, not even a chamber pot. This made her believe these accommodations were not meant to be long-term. 

She paced, working her hands in the attempt to get the bindings loosened, but they were knotted so tightly that nothing short of a blade would do. She felt a wave of panic and wild desperation swelling but she forced herself to breathe and bear it like a wild storm, let it blow over and fade to nothing. Tears dampened her cheeks and she was shaking when it passed at last, but she had banished the crush of hysteria and now she could plan. The walls were not stone. There was a chance she could find a weakness and break through, but such work would be both noisy and time-consuming. She doubted she would have the hours it would take. 

The light outside grew fainter and she knew night was coming. She smelled smoke. A campfire. That meant they intended to stay the night. She smiled faintly, glad of her night-owl nature. While they slept, she would strive to find freedom. She walked the interior perimeter slowly, feeling for the slightest breeze to betray a weakness in the wall, watching the door always. Round and round she circled until she had no choice but to rest. Seated on the cot she felt a tickle of air against her ankle and, lying on the filthy floor, she found a rat hole in the back wall. 

Judging by the sound and the way the light intruded, they were camping in the front. She lay against the back wall, her fingers pulling at the rotting wood, widening that little hole bit by bit. The daub was heavy in places and had to be hammered at with her fist until it cracked and broke apart. It left tiny cuts that soon were so numerous that her hands were leaving bloody streaks where she pulled. She could not stop though. The uprights bared, she would, she supposed, have to kick them to break through the wider wood, but that was being saved for last. Kick out the planks and wriggle out. She didn’t know where she was, but with the stars above, she could damn well find her way. 

It was long, hard work, and she had managed to make a hole a good foot wide when the scrape of iron against iron gave her but a moment’s warning to roll from under the cot and leap up as the door swung open. 

The fire outside had been smothered, or perhaps had died naturally. She had no real idea how long she’d been working. Thomas moved toward her, his steps slightly unsteady, the door left ajar, perhaps to bait her to attempt to run for it. Instead, she sat down and lifted her chin. 

“What do _you_ want?” Her tone as derisive as she could make it. 

“You…” he sneered. “You think you’re so high above me. Even when I first came to that house you treated me like dirt under your shoe.” 

“I have always been praised on my good judgement.” She hid her hands in her skirt. “You cannot think this will in any way make your point that I was wrong, do you? If that is so you are just as stupid as they say, and, honestly, I did not think that was possible.” Baiting the bull to charge, prepared to make her run when he did. 

Instead, he just stood there. “They’ll make sure that viper tongue is tamed before you reach Stilben. I wonder…” he moved, though only to the side, pacing slowly as he spoke. “... what sort of life you will have once you are sold. Do you imagine any of them will care you can read and do figures? Do you think they’ll give a damn that you were a well-born lady once?” he gave a low chuckle. “No. They’ll see only your body and your face. They’ll beat that look of disdain out of your eyes and by the time you reach Tal’Dorei, you’ll be begging for the touch every toothless wharf rat that throws you a few copper.” 

She did not hide her disgust. “Tal’Dorei? No.” She shook her head. “That is not nearly far enough away from you to rid my nose of the stink of you.” 

He frowned, his fist tightening and she prepared again to move the moment he did. “Why?” He cocked his head like a confused pup. “Why do you do that?” He resumed his pacing, his hands clenching and unclenching before him as he gestured. “You have always dug at me. Like a flea. I’d miss the bite but then the itch would begin and I would claw myself bloody to rid myself of it. It isn’t because you’re a lady and I am not. I’ve seen you treat beggars better than you treated me. Why?”

“Are… are you seriously asking me this?” She could not help but scoff. “You are now as you have ever been. A bully. I saw in an instant the measure of you. You take pleasure in hurting people weaker than you are. You are unkind. You are inconsiderate. You are low in every way. You are a tiny, weak, insignificant man hiding in a rapidly fading facade of strength and when you die..” She rose from the cot and glared at him. “... your name will be forgotten before your grave is even filled in.” 

He did move then, and as he charged, she ducked and dove toward the door. His backhand swing passed just over her head and she bolted, counting on his drunkenness to make his recovery just a fraction too slow to catch her. She reached the door, hands swung to knock it open just as his fist caught her in the side and sent her stumbling to the side. She whirled around and brought her hands up as one toward the side of his head and connected. He grunted and stumbled a step, but she was tired from the digging at the wall and her swing was not sufficient to do enough harm to buy her space to get to the door again. Backing up, she glared at him. 

“That… was stupid.” He spat blood and drug his hand across his mouth. “Your turn.” He dove at her and she backed up out of his reach as he clawed at her, missing twice before he did catch up, one meaty hand digging into her arm as the other wrapped around her neck, squeezing slowly. “I won’t kill you. I promised. You’ll just sleep a little. While you’re out, you and me can have a much better time.” 

Her air cut off, she gasped and choked, her eyes widened, hands already sore and bleeding trying to reach his hand and pull it away but she couldn’t. Darkness began to consume her, and she knew if she succumbed she would be lost. Almost as a dream, she watched beneath her lowering lids a line of crimson appear under his chin as his grip loosened and she fell backward, gasping for breath, ragged, painful sucking of air as she saw him looming over her hands clawing at his throat as red ran downward, soaking into his shirt and he fell forward to his knees revealing Margareta behind him, her hands holding each end of the thin wire garrote, pulling tightly until he expired and fell onto his face. 

She glanced to Renata with a slight lift of brows. “Husbands. They just never listen.” She made a ‘tsk’ sound and kicked him. “I warned him not to put his hands on you.” 

She coughed and worked to stand. “Th-thank you.”

The cold blue eyes, so like her own, shifted toward her and Margareta shook her head faintly, drawing a dagger and advancing. Within a moment, she had the knife at Renata’s back, the point digging faintly through the cloth of her dress, her other hand tangled in her hair. “Move.” 

“Margareta...what are you doing?” She arched away from the point of the dagger, shock diminishing her voice to a whisper.

“What I must. Walk.” She nudged her forward and followed, using the grip she had on her hair to turn her away from the darkened campsite and off the road toward the hills. 

 

 

 

Wilhelm had slowed his horse only fractionally since they had bolted from Ravenswood. They had abandoned the Havenpath and veered south-west toward Pride’s Call, hoping to reach the Tyodan River valley. If Thomas and his men reached the river, it would be impossible to catch them. He forced himself not to think about what they could have done to her, what they might even now be doing. The sun was in his eyes as it sank lower and lower, the darkness at last overtaking him as it sank behind the Cyrios. 

With no proper road, it became unwise to race across the fields, so he slowed, his horse panting and lathered, wild-eyed as he dismounted and took to walking instead, his horse’s reins in hand. He felt Bertram approach without having to hear him. “Go away.” He growled under his breath. 

“No.” Bert replied factually as he remained just out of arm’s reach, walking at his side. “We must talk about this.” 

“There is nothing to talk about. I listened to you, and you poisoned me against my wife. I told you she was a good woman, that she would never… _never_ do the things you implied.” 

“If you believed so completely, you would not be as you are now.” He reasoned calmly. “If you truly had such faith in her, you would not have become a drunken hermit in your own home.” 

Wilhelm wanted to shove his fist down his brother’s throat. Pummel him until he was forced to admit that it was all some horrible spell put on him, but he felt the heavy weight of the truth in Bertram’s words. He had doubted. He had believed it possible. In the end, he had even made his peace with it. “You’re right. I have only myself to blame.” 

“No.” Again, contradicting him. “You have most of the blame, yes, but some is shared. If I did not so vehemently seek to confirm my own beliefs at the cost of seeing what was really there…” A note entered his voice. Regret? Guilt? “You said she was a good woman, but I saw only what I wanted to see. Coldness. Aloof and distant. She made no attempt to comfort you when it was obvious you were in pain.” 

Wilhelm frowned. That was so. She hadn’t come to him. She had her reasons, but to confess them to bloodless Bertram, no doubt as unaware of carnal passion as he was of any other human feeling… he couldn’t. He inhaled sharply. “I arranged for her sister’s husband to be beaten. Imprisoned. Humiliated. I ensured that I would have the sister shamed, weeping in a strange city, brought down because she hadn’t the money to bail him out.” The admission bitter on his tongue. 

“You took pleasure in this revenge.” Bertram concluded for him. “And now it has come to bite you in the ass. If you had not done it, perhaps they would not hate you so much they did this, hmm? The shoe of spiteful revenge on the other foot as it were.”

“Yes.” He cut the word between clenched teeth. “As I have said. All my fault.”

“Tell me about her.” Bertram glanced over. “I did not wish to hear before, but I find myself curious now to know what sort of woman has sent my little brother into such a state.” 

“She is your Lady. That should be reason enough.” Wilhelm grumbled peevishly. 

“It is not. I want to hear of this … angel of kindness and light who is sweet as sugar and pure as fresh fallen snow.” A slight hint of saccharine sickness. 

“She is kind. She is generous and giving and very clever. She is also stubborn and possessed of foolish thoughts too often. She has lived her life in the background and she seems to be determined to return there even as I want her pulled into the light.” 

“Foolish thoughts?” Bertram, of course, would bite down on that part. “What manner of foolish thoughts?”

“It is not your business.” 

“You said she had foolish thoughts. I was only seeking to determine if they were the signs of madness. There are leaps and bounds between believing that dragons do not exist because you have never seen one and thinking that one can weave wings of golden thread and fly to the sun.” 

“Do not be ridiculous.” Wilhelm grunted. “She believes she is less-than. That she must always think of others before herself. She thought herself a pigeon in compared to the swan that was her sister and that to feel passion for her husband was to become a whore.” he found the words falling out without his will. “And I repaid her by making her believe it was true.” 

“That was a very stupid thing to do, yes.” He nodded. “I have met with many women. Sisters of my order, widows of all ages, high-born and low and each has, in her own way, been somehow raised to think that they must show no passion. Not in anger, not in love. That a man may mindlessly rage and succumb to his lusts as he wishes, but a woman must feel everything and show nothing. As if death will bring some great prize for them if they do not show the depths of their feelings. I do not understand it.” 

“I cannot imagine you succumbing to rage or to lust, Betram.” Wilhelm shook his head. 

“I am mortal. Admittedly, I am made of stuff perhaps less volatile than most men. Perhaps lustful inclinations are put into one in that last month before birth. As I was denied that time within mother’s womb, perhaps I simply cannot not feel those things.” He blushed a bit. “Rage, however, I know all too much about. I felt it when I saw Matthias there, bleeding. I was angry at myself. I still am. Had he been lost to us, I would never have forgiven myself.” 

Wilhelm could not argue. He could, however, share the burden. “It was both of us, Bertram. We both let ourselves see only what we wanted to see.” 

His voice again took on a note of unease, as if emotions were something he was not used to having to be burdened by. “I have spent too long in my Matron’s temple. I see now that perhaps I have been hiding from the world, not experiencing it. I believed my own conclusion to be infallible because I think myself better than everyone else. Separate and special.” His voice cracking a bit. “No more. Faith grows stagnant when there is no testing it.” He stopped and set his hand on Wilhelm’s arm to halt him. “When this is concluded, may I return to Ravenswood and serve my Lord?”

Wilhelm could tell he was sorry. That he wanted forgiveness and a chance to make amends. Did he himself not want the same? One could not expect what they were unwilling to give. “Of course. I will be thankful for your service.” 

Bertram nodded once. “I hope it will give me time to get to know your Lady with open eyes and heart.” He stepped away, his face betraying for a moment how very uncomfortable he was, then he walked on and Wilhelm could not help but smile just a bit at his brother’s discomfiture. 

The wind shifted and they both caught it at the same moment. The faint hint of woodsmoke. The horses left with two of the guard as the remainder moved quickly and silently through the fields, half-hidden in the tall plains grasses. They crested a rise and saw, in the distance, a shadow on blackness. A carriage and a house, though barely that. The faint plume of smoke from a near-dead fire rose up into the air. They had caught up at last. 

Stealthily, they moved in a flanking path around the campsite. They were nearly upon it when the first prickle of something being very wrong began in Wilhelm’s mind. They had been quiet, but not silent, and the men around the cooled fire had not even shifted. 

Bertram, who had removed a crossbow from a bag at his side, loaded with heavy black bolts, held it cocked and ready as he moved to the nearest and gave a swift short kick into the man’s back. The figure flopped onto its face heavily. “They’re dead.” He made no attempt to whisper. “All of them.” 

There were bottles of liquor near the hands of some, and Bertram took the bottle and sniffed it, then removed a yew leaf from his bag and waved it over the area, muttering softly as it swept in swirling motions as Wilhelm and the guards approached. “Poisoned.” He put the bottle down and slid the leaf back in with his other spell components. The door to the house sat ajar, and both men moved toward it. Wilhelm’s heart was in his throat as he feared to find her dead inside. The relief at seeing only a large male body and no other was short-lived. She was gone. Where could she be?

Bertram moved toward the body and turned it, a grimace on his lips. “Do you know him?”

“Yes. That is Thomas Greier. The man who lead this. It appears he’s been strangled to death. Is his wife here?” He turned and looked around, seeing no one. “She is gone. Did she do this? Where is Renata?” Wilhelm moved toward the door, his panic once again overcoming him. He couldn’t just stand there!

“I have a way to find out.” He moved to the built-in plank bed nearby and sat down. “But you must stay out of sight and keep silent.” His pale fingers drew out a stick of incense and a candle, lighting the latter and then the former. The smoke drifted upward, passed over the body from toe to face, the tendrils of smoke drifting as he muttered, then, as if alive, they turned and shot downward, rushing in through the man’s nostrils and slack jaw. The eyes opened and Thomas looked up and the candlelit face of the man above him. 

“What happened here?”

For a long passing of seconds, there was nothing but the raspy drag of a slow breath into lungs before an answer, seeming distant and cold, was uttered.

“She killed me.”

Bertram narrowed his eyes peevishly but did not break eye contact. “Why did she kill you?”

“Was just going to scare her. Wouldn’t… betray… Margareta. She would kill me if I … betrayed her.” He gave an ironic laugh, a dry rasping sound from his crushed throat. 

“So Margareta killed you. Why did you take Lady von Freidrich?”

“Margareta wanted her dead. I … persuaded better to sell her away to Tal’Dorei. We have agents in Port.. Damali…”

“Who has agents in Port Damali?” He asked.

“We are… many.”

Wilhelm could not hold back any longer. He crossed the room and took Thomas by the shirt. “Ask him where she is!”

Bertram frowned and stared at his brother. “Where is she?”

Thomas glared at Wilhelm, recognizing a hated enemy. “You will never find her.” 

A widening of his eyes and then he was just gone, the faint trail of the perfumed smoke trickling out of his nose and vanishing in the air. 

“Bring him back! Make him talk!” Wilhelm shook Thomas by the front of his shirt. 

“I can’t! That was the last of my incense. We know a bit more than we did, but I wager he was dead before he could know where she’d gone anyway.” Bertram looked up as did Wilhelm when Rolph stepped into the doorway. 

“My Lord, we’ve found their tracks.”

Rising up as one, the brothers moved toward the door. 

“Take this.” He put the candle into the hand of the guard. “Gather all the bodies and put them in here, then burn it down.” He reclaimed his crossbow as he hurried after Wilhelm, following the tracks of the women into the darkness.


	38. Chapter 38

Renata walked, the landscape unfamiliar. The moon was full, so at least there was light as she was lead to trudge at knifepoint for what felt like a half hour. The hills grassy softness gave way to the occasional large boulder dotted here and there, the shadows of the distant mountainside now more visible against the starry horizon. She was aimed toward a slightly angular rock sitting alone. As she approached she could see an iron ring had been hammered in, the lines of rust running down from it betraying it had been there a long time. 

The dagger dug against her back, the warmth of blood seeping to soak into her dress. “Kneel.” Margareta pointed to the ring and kicked at the back of Renata’s knee.

“What are we doing here, Margareta?” She asked quietly as she obeyed. She’d thought she knew what was going on before, but had been so wrong that she did not trust her own judgment anymore. The only hope she had was to remain calm.

Margareta wound a chain through the coiled ropes and then clicked a heavy padlock shut before stepping back, panting softly and sneering. “You are here to pay for what you have done to me.” 

“What crime have I committed to deserve this?” She rattled the chains faintly. “I have done all I could, all my life, to help you. To be your friend.” 

“You lie!” she spat and brandished the dagger. “You have always had **everything** and I had nothing!” her beautiful face a mask of fury. “You have stolen what was mine since the moment you and your whore of a mother arrived on the doorstep.” 

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” She knew her life depended on keeping Margareta talking. She wasn’t foolish enough to believe that Wilhelm was coming to save her, but perhaps she could save herself if she could calm her sister down and talk sense into her. First, she had to encourage Margareta to purge herself. 

“He was mine!” She jabbed at the air with the knife. “My father. All mine and then you came and I was told I had to share him.” She paced as she hissed the words. “You were his favorite. Always it was ‘Oh, Renata, you’re so clever. Oh Renata, did you read that whole book yourself.” Her voice mocking. “You and him sitting in his study for hours! Hours while I was ignored!” 

Renata blinked. She had never seen Margareta like this. “I..I’m sorry. I didn’t know you felt that way. I always saw you as the one who got all the attention. Everyone loved you. Praised you. Adored you.” 

“No.” She turned, her face cold as a glacier. “Not grandfather.” 

“Grandfather?” She had no claim of ignorance there. She was well aware she’d always been their grandfather’s favorite. “I do not know why he favored me, Margareta.” 

“Oh, you don’t?” She cocked her head, intently staring, her face very serious. “You really don’t know.” She chuckled softly. “Oh, well, that _is_ amusing.” she resumed her slow pacing. “I loved him. He was not like father. He was strong and brave and handsome. I was going to marry him when I grew up, I knew it.” She chuckled. “Such are the fancies of childhood, hmm?”

Renata nodded, not wishing to interrupt. 

“But every year I saw him growing further and further away. First your mother. He loved her, but she didn’t love him back. When she died he felt so guilty. I told him it wasn’t his fault. She shouldn’t have been running away from him. I told him he was the best man in the world. The handsomest and the bravest…” She smiled softly and drew a deep happy breath. “And he kissed me. It was so nice. He would come to my room at night. He told me I was beautiful. He told me that it was a special secret, just between he and I.” 

Renata felt a cold place settle in her core. She wished she could stop up her ears and not listen as Margareta went on. 

“But eventually he stopped coming. You became his special girl. You were the one _She_ wanted. The one who would become her cleric and seed a new temple. Soon as you were of age, he would take you to his special room…” her hand shaking as she leveled the dagger at her. “He was mine! He loved ME!” 

“I .. I never.” She felt ill. The thought of what was being discussed was abhorrent. “We walked. Talked. He didn’t ever…” She could not say it. 

Her face smoothed, becoming the pristine and beautiful mask of ivory once more though her eyes retained a glint of madness. “I prayed. Prayed so very hard every night. And, finally, She heard me. She came and she gave me a boon. You were turning twelve, and it was your special night. The night he was going to initiate you. She sensed you would never be a proper acolyte. Never follow her as truly and as wholly as I did. She made me look like you. He believed it was you under him, you who received his gifts, you who pleased him so fully.” She shuddered. “He believed it was you he took out onto the wall to present to his Goddess.” She canted her head again. “He died believing it was you who pushed him off the wall.” She laughed softly. “You should have seen his face.” 

Renata shook her head, unable to believe any of this was possible. He had been kind to her. Always. He had promised her when she was older he’d tell her secrets, and hearing what Margareta was confessing, every kindness now became a poison in her memory. She could see from different eyes, eyes of a grown woman, what he had been doing. That his kindness, his touches, his whispers and closeness was grooming her to be more receptive to his inevitable actions and it made her stomach revolt, twisting away to vomit up bile and water. When she had nothing more to cast out, she lay her head on the stone, weeping softly. “Oh, Margareta I didn’t know. I’m so sorry for you.” 

“Sorry? I’m not. He betrayed me.” She frowned and shook her head. “But She wasn’t happy with me after that. She wouldn’t speak to me. I wasn’t supposed to kill him you see. I was supposed to go back to looking like myself in the morning and then confront him with the truth and he’d be forced to accept it was The Moonweaver’s will.” Pacing anew. “I, looking like you, said that I didn’t want to follow the path. That he should choose Margareta. He laughed.” she breathed hard and fast through her nose, her mouth a tight line. “He laughed and … said I was worthless and not even pleasing. It was then I pushed him. He deserved it.” 

Hate-filled eyes turned back toward Renata, then her features shifted to a casual sort of conversational look. “So… so I went on with my life. It was enough to see you so miserable with the old man gone. See you slipping every year further and further into the woodwork.” She turned sharply. “And then you did it again.” the knife bobbing in her hand as she gestured. “You seduced Lord von Friedrich.” 

“You didn’t want him!” She could not help that her temper flared. “You begged me to help you!” 

“I didn’t want him. I still don’t. But you stole my inheritance. I knew father would keep the secret. He was ashamed. Family name and all. He would never tell the truth, so all I had to do was marry before you could. I saw no sign that would be an issue. You didn’t go to parties or flirt or seek men’s attention. You were a dull little thing content with your books and your keys. You were little more than a servant. I admit I wanted out of the arrangement. I did not want to leave Yrrosa. I have … friends here. So I lied. I made up some sad tale to put you to the test. I thought it would be funny to see you try and stop my wedding. See you fail. Make a fool of yourself in front of everyone.” her smirk turned to a sneer. “But She helped you. She made me see it. Over and over, you crawling into his bed and seducing him. I thought it was a nightmare when I woke. Until he rejected me and chose you!” She knelt down, the blade set at her throat. “He has ensured when the old man dies, it will be you who inherits Rosenfeld. I will have **nothing**.” 

She swallowed, feeling the steel against her skin. There was nothing she could say to argue. “Please. We are sisters.” 

“You're not my sister.” She chuckled with a curl of her lip, the blade turning to flick against the underside of her chin. “Haven’t you figured it out yet?” Her voice lowered to a hiss of accusation. “You’re my auntie.” 

“What?” Shock making the word a croak. 

“Grandfather was Lord of the land. He had the right to take any girl he liked, even on her wedding night. She fought him, he said, but he had her over and over for a week before he let her go. Her poor husband never came back from the war.” Pouting. “Grandfather ensured it was so. She wouldn’t come to him. She tried to hide you. He found out. He made her marry Father to have her in his reach again. Brought his whore and her bastard child to steal everything from me.” 

She shook her head. It was not possible. “I don’t… it’s not …” she wanted to argue it, but the more she thought about it, she couldn’t find any reason it didn’t make sense. A thousand memories raced through her mind and she saw the truth of it. Why her mother had never said her father’s name. Why she hated Grandfather so and avoided him. Why she was so cold and withdrawn in her marriage. Why she had died. She was not her father’s daughter, she was his sister. “I don’t want Rosenfeld, Margareta.” 

“And you won’t get it.” She shook her head slowly. “Are you watching!?” She shouted without taking her eyes off Renata’s face. “If she’s so damn important to you.. Save her now!” Several seconds passed. “See… She’s abandoned you too.” 

“She doesn’t listen to you.” Renata swallowed softly. “Isn’t that what you said?”

Margareta crouched and set a hand to the boulder, her other hand setting the blade against Renata’s neck again. “Let’s see if she listens to _you_ then. Ask her to spare you.” The blade shaking at her throat. “Go on. Beg.”

“I will not. If it is my fate to die, I accept that.” She eyed her sister… niece… with a calmness that wrapped around her like a cloak. “It is living that is the true challenge.” 

“Goodbye, Renata.” She pulled the blade back, twisting it in her hand, lifting it upward to drive it down into her heart. 

 

Moving stealthily, they could hear a distant conversation. The wind drifted through the grasses and hid the sounds of their movement as they drew closer. Wilhelm made a motion for the men to stop, to allow him to listen more carefully. 

“... you who inherits Rosenfeld. I will have nothing!” Margareta’s voice cracked through the night. 

Renata’s voice rose, firm but edged in fear and desperation. “Please. We are sisters.” 

Wilhelm motioned for the men to move around the rocks and flank, Bertram remaining at his side. He was still unsure of the situation. There could be others who had not yet made themselves known. Slowly, he moved, his shadow-sibling in his wake creeping to get a better look.

“You're not my sister.” Margareta’s voice dripping with sarcasm and contempt “Haven’t you figured it out yet?” Her voice lowered, but the wind carried the words to them. “You’re my auntie.” 

The men shared a look of confusion and Wilhelm shook his head, looking quickly over the clearing as Margareta was telling a tale of rape and Renata’s true parentage. There was no one there but the women. Renata was tied to the rock, her captor lording over her. Sinking back down, he gave a motion for Bertram to remain where he was. He himself was going to move around where he could draw her from behind. Get her to move away from the rock perhaps. 

“I don’t want Rosenfeld, Margareta.” 

“And you won’t get it.” She shouted out to no one it seemed. “Are you watching!? If she’s so damn important to you, save her now!”

Wilhelm coiled to rise and do just that, peeking up and over the low rock he’d taken shelter behind. The woman was blocking his view of Renata. He could not see where her knife was. If he startled her, she might cut Renata’s throat before he could take a step. 

“She doesn’t listen to you. Isn’t that what you said?”

“Let’s see if she listens to _you_ then. Ask her to spare you. Go on. Beg.”

“I will not. If it is my fate to die, I accept that. It is living that is the true challenge.” He was overwhelmed with pride in her, facing her end with such calm while he was near to going mad with the tension of waiting for the right moment to strike.

“Goodbye, Renata.” The blade raised and he stood to charge when, with a hiss, a black bolt streaked from the tall grass and hit Margareta in the chest, another following a half moment later. The blues wide, she gasped and crumpled backward, sprawled in the grass, the sallow moon reflected in her eyes as the life faded from them. 

He stood stunned for a moment, then darted forward and knelt, cutting at the ropes that held Renata’s hands, his heart hammering. He pulled her to him, her whole body wracked with sobs. He held her tightly, her own embrace almost painfully tight, but he bore it. Letting her give him her pain so he could bear it for her. He pet her hair and glanced up as the men moved into the clearing. 

“I have her. See to the rest.” he rose and lifted her up into his arms, taking her off into the quiet dark to let her mourn away from prying eyes. He held her secure as she poured out her misery until the weeping slowed and she just sat limply, drained completely, sick and exhausted by the unbearable terrors and truths she had been forced to endure. 

“My Lord... I am sorry. I did not mean…” 

“Do not speak.” his tone firm, but kind. “You have nothing to be sorry for. We will talk when you have rested and we are home. There is much to say. Just not now.” Tonight, it is enough that you are safe." 

She was quiet and still for a few minutes, but then her voice lifted anew. “How did you find me so swiftly?”

“Young Petrus. He saw you attacked and ran for help.” 

“I am so very sorry about Matthias.” tears welled again and her shoulders fell. “It was all my fault.” 

“He will live.” He jumped a bit as she looked up with shock. He realized she had thought him dead. The truth of how close it had been was not something that pleased him to think about. “Bertram got there in time. Clerics are very handy to have around, now and then.” 

“He hates me.” She shook her head. “I do not know what I did to make him despise me so much.” She rested her cheek on his soaked shirt. “I am sorry for whatever it may have been.” 

His hand rose and rested against her shoulder. “The apology is for him to speak. As it stands, I promise that he does not hate you. He came with me to save you.” Wilhelm would not tell her that it had been Bertram’s crossbow that had fired the bolts. He did not want her seeing her sister’s killer whenever she looked at his brother. 

“She is dead.” It was a statement, her voice coldly flat. 

“Yes.” he held her close, not knowing what to say. 

“Must…” She dampened her lips. “Must my father know the truth?” She pulled back and looked up at him. “Is there any way for him to think it was… I do not know, robbers or something? He will be destroyed by her loss.” 

He shook his head faintly, amazed that even in such a time as this, her thoughts were on the feelings of others. “You would have me hide that she tried to murder you? Have her mourned and buried as if she was a lady and not a …” he bit back his angry words. “We can do that. Yes. If it makes you feel better.” 

She went still and he continued to just hold her. He kept silent when all he wanted to do was ask her a thousand questions. Eventually, she sank to sleep, too weary and worn by her ordeal to do otherwise. He remained there, holding her close until dawn, his own thoughts running wild.


	39. Chapter 39

As the sun rose, Wilhelm lifted her again, her body curled up against his chest as he carried her back toward where the smoldering remnants of the hovel were sending up coils of dark smoke. He did not like the idea of putting her back into the carriage she had been abducted in, but she needed her rest. He settled her into the seat and closed the door quietly, moving to speak with his men. 

“Merton, take the most rested horse and ride back to Ravenswood as quickly as you can. Have our carriage brought to meet us on the Havenpath Road.” The man nodded and mounted up within minutes, the heavy swift cadence of hoofbeats fading as he raced away. Wilhelm then turned his attention to his brother who stood by, his hands laced before him. “She wants to make it seem the ... “ he bit back a very rude word. “... her sister was attacked by someone on the road. Is that possible?”

“I suppose it can be arranged. The others have been burned. A story can be woven though, yes.” 

“See that it is done then.” He did not sound thrilled by the prospect. As far as he was concerned, leaving her to be eaten by wild animals was too good a fate for Margareta Rosenfeld. “For her father’s sake. The man need never know what happened.” 

Bertram stepped away, nodding and called over two of the guards. Wilhelm watched them listen, nod, and then after a few muttered words, step away to fetch the horses that had been unhitched from the carriage and get them prepared to pull again. Bertram knelt over the body of the dead woman, the bolts now absent from her chest, and muttered softly, a copper coin lightly set onto each of her eyes, a scattering of some faint white powder across her brow. 

That done, he rose to walk back. “Rouse your lady, ride for Ravenswood. I will see that the horses find their way home. I have spoken with two of your guards. They will play the part of travelers who happened upon the carriage. That the lady was wounded, but alive when they found her, but sadly perished from her wounds after confessing her name and where to take her.”

“Good.”

“I have ensured as well that she will look as lovely as this for another week. That will give them time to arrange a funeral. I expect you will be sent a letter so be prepared that after Ascension Night, you’ll have to go and feign surprise.” 

“Indeed.” Wilhelm had been thinking that it might be wise to send someone to act in his stead at Rosenfeld. Someone to learn the land and care for it when Lord Rosenfeld passed on. He would ask Matthias if that sounded like something that he could be comfortable with once he’d healed completely. The few hints he had managed to grasp about Thomas having friends who were sending slaves to Port Damali… it was troubling. He shook his head, pulling his thoughts to the here and now. “Thank you, Bertram. We will see you for the festivities. I will, at least. I do not know if my Lady will feel up to them.” 

“I will understand if she is absent.” He turned and began directing the returned guards to collect Lady Greier’s remains, leaving Wilhelm to collect his wife and mount up for the ride back to Ravenswood. 

The trip was slower, quiet and subdued. She sat before him, sleeping with her head back against his shoulder or sitting wakeful and silent as they approached the village. He wanted to speak to her so badly. To confess all his woes and beg her forgiveness. He couldn’t find the words to begin. 

“It is quite a different feeling this time.” She said as the gates came into sight. “Last time I rode into Ravenswood in your lap you were not so quiet.” 

He remembered. Though he thought now of her with far more care for her feelings than his wants, he still was tempted by the proximity and the warmth of her frame in the circle of his arms. “I do not think if we repeated the last time, that the villagers would believe either of us. They know too much now.” He could not help but smile. 

“Oh, I don’t know. You have proven yourself to be a very good Lord. Someone took something of yours and you wasted no time in taking it back.” 

He felt a pang of something sweetly painful in his chest. “I do not know what I would have done if you had been hurt. Why did you not tell me when the letter came from your sister?” 

“I did not wish to disturb you.” her voice even and calm. “I have done my best to keep out of your way.” 

“Why would you think you were in my way?” He shook his head. “It is I who have done wrong by you. I do not think I will ever be able to mend the rift I created between us, but I swear I want to try.” 

She twisted in her seat, turning back to look at him with a quizzical glance. “What _are_ you talking about?”

He swallowed hard. “While we were in Druvenlode, I had Thomas beaten. I threatened him to keep him from harming your sister. I was afraid if you found out he was hurting her, you’d try to get involved and he’d hurt you.” He confessed. “I made arrangements so she would feel low. So she would see you with all the love, the respect, the admiration you deserved. I wanted to see her choke on her tongue for ever making you feel you were not the far superior creature.” He sighed gently. “The worst of it is that I enjoyed it. I took pleasure in seeing him hurt. In threatening his life. In making her feel humiliated. Then I returned to the hotel and … I abused you so wretchedly. I treated you like a … It was unforgivable. I feel myself turning into my father and I cannot bear it.” 

“Oh, stop that.” She made a face as if he were being silly. “You are nothing like your father.” 

Her tone shocked him. “You were there. You saw.” He was utterly unable to fathom how she did not see it. “I treated you like a whore.” he leaned in close, desperation in his eyes. “I _enjoyed_ it. I reveled in demeaning you. Abusing you.” 

“When you and I were in that room.” She turned and leaned back, her head tipped against his shoulder, voice low so only he could hear. “Did you ever truly feel like I was beneath you?” 

He cast his mind back and shook his head faintly. “No.” Even on her knees, he had thought her more than his equal. 

“That is what makes you different than him.” She slid her hand over his as he gripped the reins. “You did not abuse me, Wilhelm. I came to you by choice. I knew, if not the specifics, then certainly the general idea of what would await me if I opened the black envelope. And I _chose_ it. I enjoyed it, yes, but it was more important to me that you saw me enjoy it. I love you. All of you. Your shadow and your light.” 

He bowed his head, nuzzling at her temple. “I have been a fool.” 

“I would never argue with my Lord.” She said quietly, a faint smile offered. 

He chuckled. “Indeed, my Lady. Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?”

“If we may exchange forgiveness, and vow anew to be honest with one another, I will be content.” 

“I will devote myself to making you far more than content.” He pulled her up more firmly against him and together they rode for home where a bath, a good hot meal, and a very warm bed would mend the rift once and for all. 

 

The next night, the villagers gathered at the monument as the sun sank to the horizon, lamps and torches unlit, only the low light of dusk to illuminate the pale visage of the High Cleric. 

“Tonight we gather to remember that death does not sever anything.” He looked across the crowd, spying with ease the figure of his youngest brother, wan, but recovering, as well as his Lord and Lady, standing to the side. “Each life is a thread. It touches countless other threads who in turn tangle with others until the whole of Exandria is knit into a single glorious tapestry that tells the tale of its people. Of love and loss. Tears and joy. Of kindness, and trust, and faith. The threads of memory, the life you shared, endures forever. It lights your way in the darkest of times.” 

He lit his torch, and from it, the torches of others, the light growing as it passed from person to person, spreading out to encompass the whole of the crowd. The mood shifted to bright song and music, weaving back up to the village where the celebration of those unbroken ties could begin. 

“Well said, Bertram.” Wilhelm complimented him as they followed in the wake of the merry crowd. 

“I speak as I am lead by The Raven Queen. I am but an instrument of her wisdom.” 

“Yes, Bert, you’re a tool alright.” Matthais quipped and walked quicker to get out of reach of his eldest brother who, uncharacteristically, began to smirk as he drew a small bit of iron from his pocket. Matthias, a few dozen yards ahead, suddenly stopped, frozen in place. Quietly, Bertram meandered to catch up, a stick of charcoal in hand. As he stepped back a few seconds later, a rather impressive handlebar mustache graced Matthias’ frozen countenance. With a little whistle, Bert walked on, hands behind his back. Forty-seven seconds later, wiping at his face with a little grunt of annoyance, Matthias was free to move once more. He darted off and vanished into the crowd, shouting for his eldest brother and swearing vengeance.. 

“And that… is why it is unwise to tease a cleric.” Wilhelm slid his hand into Renata’s to give it quick and covert squeeze, but she would not let it go, choosing to walk with her hand in his. He lifted it, brushing a kiss over her knuckles. “I am glad you were able to be here for this. I did not know how much I wished to share it with you. How much I missed sharing everything with you.” He sobered. “These last few weeks were unbearable. I want nothing to come between us again.” 

“That is impossible to promise, My Lord.” She said with a tone of regret. “As my belly will very soon come between us.” A slight smile playing on her lips. “You will have a very hard time embracing me at all by the end.” 

He stopped, turning her to study her face, his eyes intent. “You are certain?”

“I have not suffered proof otherwise since before we ventured to Druvenlode. I asked your brother to make certain and he confirmed it. Your Matron has seen the new thread created. A fate tied to us for all of time.” She reached up and let her fingertips run down his jaw. “Are you angry, My Lord, that I did not tell you sooner?”

He gave a slow sort of wicked smile. “You hid this from me? I should take you over my knee.” 

She smiled back, her blues rich under the demure lashes before she looked up at him with obvious joy and happiness. “Promise?”


End file.
